ANDOTHERPOE1 


•:•  ORESTES 
A  DRAMATIC  SKETCH 
AND  OTHER  POEMS  * 
•:•  BY  HARRY  LYMAN 
KOOPMAN 


BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 
MOULTON,  WENBORNE  &  CO. 


?^ 


COPYRIGHT,  1888, 
BY  H.  L.  KOOPMAN. 


T 
j  . 


84922 

AUG  1     193& 


TO    MY    KINSMAN    AND    FRIEND. 

REUBEN  HARVEY  MITCHELL 

OF  FREEPORT,  MAINE. 


Page. 

ERRATA.  191 

39 

Page    56,  line    9,  "Again  not"  Again" 

"        58,     "     19,  half  no/so  ^ 

'•       66,     "     31,  Getting  not  g  89 

"        74,     "    26,  ruth  not  truth  129 

"       88,    "    23,  the  not  tfle  53 

"       99,     "     12,  shop  not  shops  ^ 

"      no,     "     10,  wonderland  not  wouderful  42 

"      III,     "     14,  watchman  not  watching  I31 

"      118,     "    22,  laggards  not  laggard's 

56 
I2b,     '•     1 6,  your  not  you  t 

"     J43>    "      3»  war»  not war-  8j. 

•"      144,     "     1 6,  brought,  not  brought,  15° 

"      152.     "     12,  breath!  not  breath  44 

1C  J 

153.     "     20,  light,  not  light.  go 

"      155,     "     24,  to-day  thou  not  thou  loo 

"      185,     "    30,  retrousses.  not  retrousses.  80 

41 
179 

51 
107 

97 
92 

154 

Cousin  Nell,                      .              .                            .  46 

Criticism,                     .....  58 

Crows,  The,                       ....  90 

David's  Lament  over  Saul  and  Jonathan,    .  135 

Day  Red,                            ....  50 

Day-spring,                             .             .             .             .  153 

Death  of  Guinevere,  The,          .                           .  28 


CONTENTS 


Page. 

Ad  Socium,                                         .                          •  I9l 

Afterglow,                        .                                          .  39 

Angels'  Visits,          .             .             ,  l&9 

Anniversary  Hymn,       ....  93 

Antecedents,             .             .             •             •             •  I2° 

Arrow  Shot,  An,            .              .  89 

At  My  Northern  Window,                             ,  129 

Autumn,                           ...  53 

Balder,                     .....  35 

Barker,  David,                ....  62 

Barred  Out,              .  42 

Beowulf,  Foresong  to.  I3I 

Blindness,                 ....  43 

Blush,  A,                         ...  56 

Boot  and  Saddle,  59 

Booth,  Edwin,                .             .  8j. 

Brown,  John,            .  15° 

Burden,  The,                  ...  44 

By  the  Sea,               ...  IS1 

Ca  Ira,                              ....  60 

Calm,                        ....  loo 

Camden  Hills,                .  80 

Champlain  Glimpses,            .  41 

Chestnut  Bell,  The,        .  1 79 

Child  of  the  Northern  Star,               .  51 

Children,                            .  107 

Christopher,                .              .              ,  97 

Coburn,  Charles  Miller,                .             .  92 

Constitution,  The,                   .  J54 

Cousin  Nell,                      .  4^ 

Criticism,                     ...  5° 

Crows,  The,                       .              .  9° 

David's  Lament  over  Saul  and  Jonathan,    .  135 

Day  Red,                            .  5° 

Day  spring,                  .              .                            .  153 

Death  of  Guinevere,  The,          ...  28 


Devil,  The,  ....  192 

Difference,  The,        .....  62 

Dudelinafs  Fate,  The,  184 
Earth  School,  The,        .             .  61 

Ebeeme,  ....  82 

Eheeme  Boating  Song,  ...  85 

Eldorado,  lOg 
Emerson,                          ...  94 

Epigaea  Repens  Coronata,  .  107 

Estranged,  .  .  .  47 

Evening,  .  IOi 

Eallen,  .  .  .  IOo 

Fated,  ....  47 

Fisherman,  The,  188 

Flowerless,  .  ...  .  .  106 

Frolic  of  the  Leaves,  The,         .  113 

Frozen  Waterfall,  The,       .  .  81 

Garfield,  ....  go, 

Gauntlet,  The,         .....  143 

German  Love  Song  of  the  I2th  Century,  141 

Grant,  .....  60 

Great  Admiral,  The,  ...  31 

Hadrian,  Dying,  to  His  Soul,          .  .  136 

Her  Mind,  ...  191 

Heredity,  .....  So 

Hesper,  .  .  .  146 

Homer,  Translations  from,  .  .  .  157 

Humorous  Poems,          .  171 

Icarus,  .....  42 

Idun;  or,  The  Meeting  Ways,  157 

Jlioneus,  ...  .  145 

In  Boston  Common,  ...  89 

In  the  Kingdom  of  the  Blind,         .  .  .  : 

In  Tau  Kappa  Phi.        .  .  .  121 

Isle  au  Haut,  .....  49 

Jonah,  .  .  191 

King  Death,  ...  183 

Landlady's  Daughter,  The,        .  .  .  141 

Land-longing,          .....  88 

Lapland  Driving  Song,  ...  78 

Left  Behind,  .....  63 

Life,  ....  192 

Lion  of  Lucerne,  The,        .  .  .  .  143 

Longfellow,  ....  94 

Loreley,  The,          .  .  .  134 

Lost,  ....  96 

Love,  .  .  102 

Love  in  the  Northland,  .  .  108 

Love-Pains,  .  .  .  ,  .  190 


Love's  Arrow, 

Love's  Faltering,     .  54 

Lover's  Oath,  The,        .  19° 

Materialism,             .  3 

Mav,                                  •              •  I05 

Miller's  Songs  of  the  Sierras, 

Milton, 

Morn,                       ..-  IGI 

Morning,                                                                     •  Io1 

My  Child  Love,       .  57 

My  Galahad, 

My  Worship,            .  '47 

Norns,  The, 

Not  the  Same, 

O  Heart,  and  Must  I  Sing  to  Thee,       .  i$5 

Old  Mathematician,  The,  IO4 

Orestes;  or,  'I  he  Avenger,          .  7 

Out  of  the  Depths, 

Out  West,                                   -   •                            •  I89 

Outshone,  r54 

Over-Birth, 

Pancakes,  17°: 

Path  to  Songland,  The, 

Persistence,'  *42 

Phosphor, 

Pirate  Horse-Car,  The,          .  !73 

Poet,  The,  "9.     19* 

Poet  and  the  Birds,  The,                   .  55 

Poets,                                -  41 

Poet's  Treasure,  The, 

Potencies,                          ,  r54 

Priceless,                    .                                            .               .  146 

Prince  Henry  to  Elsie,  °4 

Princess  Eyebright,               .  5° 

Purity,  99 

Question,  The, 

Recompense, 

Reform,                 •    .              .  95 

Rest,                   .             -  5° 

Rhvmes,                    .              •  r9° 

Ru's  hit,  1S2 

Saint  LJi/aheth,       .  44 

Sea  and  Shore,                •                            •  34 

Seasons,  The,          .  4& 

Self- Deception, 

Shepherdess  Moon,  The,                  .  *3^ 

Sin,                                      .               •  102 

Singer,  The,  U3 

Small  to  the  Great,  The,            .  79 


Song- Birth,                            ...  147 

Soul  and  Body,               ....  65 

Springy,                                   .                            .  190 

Storm,                 ....  104 

Success,                                 .             .             .  .                   iiS 

Summer  Night  in  Winter,  A,  69 

Summer's  Day,  A,               .             .             .  .                   150 

Sunlight,                           ...  1 20 

Swedenborg,             .              .              .              .  .                    133 

Temples,                  .              .             .             .  .                   123 

Three  Letters,                 ....  124 

Three  Stages,  The,               ...  19 

To  Princess  Eyebright  in  the  Catskills,               .  156 

To  the  Firefly,         .              .              .              .  .                    1 1 1 

To  the  May-Flower,      ....  87 

Town  Clock,  The,               ...  149 

Truth,                             ....  1 02 

Twelve  Undertakers  of  Burlington,  The,  .                    180 

Twofold  Teaching,  A,                ...  103 

Una  Sanctarum,      .             .              .             .  152 

Unconscious  Beauty,      ....  148 

Unhidden,                 ....  53 

Unthrift,                          ....  86 

Vergil,  Translations  from,                 .              .  .                    140 

Wanhope,                        .              .             .             .  119 

Wedlock,                 .....  39 

Work  and  Wages,          .             .             .  187 

World- Voice,  The,  118 


*  ORESTES  * 


—  OR  — 


THE  *  AVENGER. 


A   DRAM  A']' 1C  SKETCH. 


CHARACTERS  IN  THE  PLAY. 


AGAMEMNON,  king  of  Argos. 
/EGISTHUS,  his  supplanter. 
ORESTES,  son  of  Agamemnon. 

CLYT/EMNESTRA,    wife    of    Agamemnon,    and    afterwards    of 
/Egisthus. 

ELECTRA,  daughter  of  Agamemnon. 

PYLADES,  son    of  Strophius,    king    of    Phocis,    and    friend    of 
Orestes. 

GUARDS. 

SCENE — Before  the  royal  palace  at  Mycentt. 


ACT  I. 

AGAMEMNON  comes  in. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Hail,  halls  of  Atreus,  which  in  happy  hour 
Once  more  mine  eyes  behold  !  Ancestral  courts, 
Which  echoed  to  my  infant  shouts,  where  sported 
Brothers  with  foster-brother,  hail  !   Thou  shining  sky, 
Gladly  I  greet  thy  soaring  arch  of  blue. 
Not  such  at  Ilium  bentest  thou  above, 
With   frost   that   froze  men's   hearts    and    rains    that 

drowned  ; 

Nor  such,  ye  winds  that  play  among  the  flowers, 
As  when  ye  snatched  the  leaguer's  tents  away, 
And  tore  the  long  ships  from  their  anchors'  arms. 
"  Farewell  loved  scenes,  for  Troy  we  bend  the  oar." 
Such  was  our  parting  ten  long  years  agone. 
Ah  me  !   how  few  of  all  that  crossed  the  foam, 
In  those  my  hundred  ships,  were  left  to  watch 
The  Argive  hills  prick  through  the  weltering  blue. 
And,  risen,  lift  the  curving  shore  to  sight, 
Then  sink  beyond  their  pines  !   But,  come  though  late, 
Though  few  we  come,  yet  on  our  prows  we  bring 
Bright  Victory  perched,  and,  in  our  hollow  ships, 
For  you,  O  shield-hung  halls,  we  lead  a  train 
Of  Trojan  captives  meet  to  serve  our  state. 


10 

But  why  in  welcome  swing  not  the  wide  doors  ? 
Why  comes  with   shouts  and   greetings  and  strown 

flowers, 

No  faithful  band  ?  Flashed  not  my  beacon  fires 
The  news  of  my  return  ?  Hath  some  mishap 
Withheld  the  steps  of  my  swift  messenger 
I  sent  but  now  before  me  from  the  ships  ? 
Why  stirs  no  life  within?   But  let  me  turn, 
You,  ye  fair  fields  to  view.      The  same,  the  same  ! 

-•E(;iSTHfs  and  CI.YT.KMNKSTRA  come  out  of  the  palace. 
They  embrace ;  then  come  forward,  CLYT.KMNKSTRA  on  the 
right,  yEuiSTHUs  on  the  left. 

Already  swings  the  laborer's  arm  in  tilth, 
Already  glows  the  sward.     No  fields  like  those 
About  the  home  ;  for  here  dwell  peace  and  love. 
My  royal  wife  ! 

CLYT/EMNESTRA, 

Late  comes  my  lord,  but  vet, 
The  gods  be  thanked,  he  has  not  come  too  late  : 
Nor  do  the  Phrygian  plains  infold  his  form. 
But  why  thus  unattended  comes  my  lord. 
No  herald  sent  before,  no  beacon  fire 
To  bid  make  ready  royal  welcome  for  him? 
Comes  he  alone  of  all  ? 

.-EGISTHUS  stabs  AGAMKMNON  /;/  ///,•  back. 

AGAMEMNON. 
Oh  !    I  am  slain. 

False  foster-brother  !  False  wife  !  Now  I  see. 
Oh  !  why  in  fondness  did  I  leave  my  guards. 
To  rush  but  on  mv  doom  ? 


11 


CLYT/EMNESTRA. 

Remember  her 
Thou  slewest  in  Aulis. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Nay,  think  not  to  cloak 

Thy  crime  with  her  fcweet  name.      Thou  wanton  beast, 
Small  joy  thou'lt  win  of  thine  adulterous  bed  ; 
For  vengeance,  vengeance,  though  it  sleep,  shall  come. 
My  sword  shall  wreak  it, — oh  !   I  die.     I  die. 
The  world  grows  dark.      Orestes,  mine  Orestes, 
Forget  not  those  that  slew  thy  sire.      Revenge  ! 

Dit's.      Hi;  guards  conic  in  a  nil  catch  sight  of  the  dead  l>oi]y. 

GUARDS. 

Whose  deed  is  this  ? 

/EGISTHUS. 
Stand  off!   What,  guardsmen,  ho  ! 

The  body-guard  of  .-EoisTHl's  ci'ines  in  and  the  soldiers  of 
AGAMEMNON  fal'l  l>ad:. 

He  lies  here  justly,  bathed  in  his  own  blood, 
The  bloody-handed,  most  unnatural  father, 
False  leader,  faithless  husband,  treacherous  friend. 
It  was  not  meet  his  breath  again  should  taint 
This  Argive  air.      But,  now  the  soul  has  fled, 
I  spare  his  wretched  corse,  and,  where  he  fell, 
I  will  erect  a  tomb  in  honor  not 
Of  him,  but  of  the  throne  that  he  dishonored. 
Now  to  your  posts. 

ELECTRA  comes  in,  leading  OKESTES,  and  sees  the  body  of 
her  father. 


ELECTRA. 

My  father,  O  my  father, 
What  hath  befallen  ?   O  father,  speak  to  me  ! 

She  flings  herself  upon  the  body. 

His  cheeks  are  white  and  cold.     He  does  not  breathe. 
There's  blood  upon  the  ground.     Speak,  mother,  tell 

me, 
How  comes  he  so  ? 

She  sees  the  blood  upon  /EGlSTHUs'-s  sword. 
Is  this  thy  work,  O  villain, 
Thou  traitor,  coward,  murderer  of  thy  host  ? 
How  darest  thou  stand  beside  my  mother  there? 
O  mother,  dearest  mother,  leave  his  side. 
Nay,  give  me  back  my  father  ;   spare  thy  words. 

.-EGISTHUS. 

It  wants  but  little  I  should  slay  you  both, 
And  end  this  cursed  breed  ;  but,  for  her  sake 
That  bore  you,  I  refrain.     Henceforth,  however, 
On  peril  of  thy  life  let  me  not  hear 
That  ready  tongue  of  thine.      His  life  and  thine 
Depend  upon  thy  silence. 


and  CLYT^MNESTKA  go  into  the  palace. 
ELECTRA. 

Kneel  Orestes, 

And,  with  thy  hand  upon  thy  father's  brow, 
S\vear  by  his  throne,  his  glory  and  his  murder, 
By  the  bright  sun,  the  earth  and  the  round  sea, 
Thy  love  of  good  men's  praise,  thy  hope  to  thrive, 
By  thine  own  honor,  and  by  all  the  gods, 


18 


If  ever  thou  to  manhood  shalt  attain, 
To  wreak  revenge  upon  the  guilty  wretch 
That  slew  thy  sire,  the  King  of  Men. 

ORESTES. 

I  swear. 


ACT  II. 


Eight  years  later.      77ie  tomb  of  AGAMEMNON  appears  before 
the  palace.     EI.KCTRA  stands  beside  it. 

ELECTRA. 

Two  lives  we  lead,  of  waking  and  of  sleep. 

The  sun  goes  down,  the  heaven's  myriad  eyes 

Look  out  upon  the  closing  eyes  of  men. 

The  spear  of  dawn  dashes  upon  the  crests 

Of  the  cold  hills,  and  shivers  into  light  ; 

Then  birds  and  beasts  and  men  awake  and  rise. 

Hut  which  is  true  life,  what  the  bright  sun  gilds, 

Or  what  the  stars  bedew  with  influences? 

Say  rather  both  are  true,  and  are  but  each 

Opposing  sides  of  one  reality; 

And  life  moves  on  unchanged  through  glow  or  gloom, 

As  the  boat  dashes  onward,  now  in  sun, 

And  now  in  shadow  of  the  sail,  but  still 

Unchecked,  unaltered,  to  its  haven  speeds. 

My  father  !   oh,  how  many  a  night  and  oft 

Heside  my  couch  thy  shadow  hath  appeared, 


14 


When  I  with  all  the  house  in  slumber  lay  ! 

But  not  as  yesternight ;  always  before 

Thou  earnest  cold  and  pale,  with  stony  eyes, 

And    spakest     with     hollow     voice,     and     criedst, 

"  Revenge  !  " 

While  thy  wounds  bled  afresh,  until  my  heart, 
Beating,  awoke  me  with  upstarting  hair. 
But  this  morn,  oh  !   I  woke  with  tears  of  joy. 
The  sun  shone  on  my  bed,  and  in  his  light, 
I  deemed  I  saw  thee  still,  no  longer  gray, 
And  battle-worn,  and  cold  and  faint  with  wounds  ; 
But,  glowing  in  the  ruddy  flush  of  youth, 
With  springing  step,  and  eyes  that  darted  hope, 
Thou  badest  rejoice,  for  all  my  ills  are  o'er. 
I  scarce  since  then  have  ceased  to  weep  for  joy  : 
And  yet  no  joy  I  find,  but  only  grief; 
For  daily  grow  the  sorrows  of  our  house. 
The  servants  that  my  father  chose  are  bowed 
With  heavier  burdens — those  the  grave  hath  spared  : 
And  daily  swells  his  insolence  that  struts 
Where  strode  in  majesty  the  King  of  Men. 
Orestes,  brother,  wilt  thou  never  come? 
Boy  that  these  hands  led  forth  and  stole  from  death, 
Sending  by  secret  ways  to  Phocis  far ; 
And  there,  intrusting  to  good  Strophius, 
Left  thee  to  grow  into  thy  father's  self, 
Till  manhood  and  the  consciousness  of  strength 
Should  drive  thee  back  to  rid  earth  of  a  wretch. 
But  still  thou  comest  not,  though  surely  now, 
Long  since,  thy  voice  hath  caught  a  deeper  tone, 
Thy  head  a  prouder  poise,  unless,  ah  me  ! 
Some  ill  hath  happed, — a  fever  caught  thee  hence, 


15 


Or  wild  boar,  hunted,  turned  and  rent  thy  flesh, 
Or  swift  steed  thrown  thee,  or  the  chariot  wheels, 
Confounded,  crushed  thy  form  ;  or,  no,  not  so  ! 
Like  Iliona's  traitorous  spouse,  thy  host 
Hath  broken  faith,  and  slain  both  thee  and  me. 
But  if  thou  livest,  and  thine  arm  fails  not, 
Why  yet  delayest  thou  ?    Is  life  so  sweet 
Thou  canst  not  risk  it  in  so  dear  a  cause? 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  vow?     Hast  thou  forgot 
Thy  father's  murdered  form,  the  tyrant's  boast 
And  fraud  against  thy  life?    Wrought  I  in  vain? 
Are  all  my  tears  to  thee  as  if  unwept, 
My  toils  unborne,  revilings  unendured  ? 
It  cannot  be  !     Thou  art  thy  father's  son, 
And,  if  thou  livest,  even  now  art  sped 
To  swoop  in  vengeance  on  that  guilty  head. 


ACT  III. 


.•KGISTHUS  and  CI.YT.-EMNESTRA  com,'  out  of  the  palace. 

.•KGISTHUS. 

Something  too  long  have  I  endured  her  spite. 
I  dread  e'en  for  thy  life ;   lest  in  her  madness, 
Still  brooding  over  how  her  father  fell, 
As  if  he  had  not  merited  his  death 
And  tenfold  worse  ;   and  in  her  melancholy 
At  seeing  not  her  brother, — prudent  lad  ! 
He  knows  where  he  is  safe, — dreaming  I  know  not 


What  wild  hope  that  the  race  of  Pleisthenes 
Should  mount  my  throne  again,  —  -I  fear  lest  she, 
In  mad  revenge,  should  seek  thy  life  and  mine, 
By  sleight  or  craft.     I  fear  not  for  myself, 
But  deep  I  should  regret  if  she  achieved 
So  much  as  an  attempt  upon  thy  health. 
I  do  not  fear  her,  though  I  know  her  plots 
To  tamper  with  my  guards,  and  though  I  know, 
In  lacking  power  to  harm,  she  lacks  not  will. 

CLYT^MNESTRA. 

I  should  be  loath  to  part  e'en  from  a  child 

Lost  to  all  claim  on  love.     Yet,  though  I  share  not 

Thine  over  anxious  fears  for  me,  I  deem 

Foresight  the  truest  wisdom  in  a  king  ; 

For  in  himself  he  bears  about  the  life 

Not  only  of  himself  but  of  his  subjects  ; 

And  even  trivial  dangers  are  not  slight 

Endangering  all  at  once.     So,  not  in  fear, 

But  in  a  wise  precaution,  it  were  well, 

For  us  and  for  Electra,  to  bestow 

Her  hand  in  marriage  on  some  far-come  suitor. 

Not  few  such  have  appeared. 


Talk  not  of  that, 

Of  seeking  out  new  hate,  and,  for  one  foe, 
Winning  a  second,  and  therewith  an  army. 
What  profits  me  my  throne,  if  still  he  lives 
I  slew  to  win  it?    Lives  and  is  at  hand 
To  claim  it  hourly  ;   for  while  they  live, 
His  children,  Agamemnon  walks  the  earth. 


17 


Cl.YT/EMNESTRA. 

What  meanest  thou  ? 

^SGISTHUS. 

I  would  with  this  same  steel 
Make  good  my  kingship  that  I  won  it  with. 

C  LYT.-EMNESTR  A  . 

Thou  wouldst  not  sla    her  ! 


Even  with  this  sword, 
Beside  her  father's  grave  ;  so  that,  at  last, 
(For,  of  her  brother,  if  indeed  he  live, 
I  take  no  thought),  my  throne  might  be  secure, 
Thy  life  be  freed  from  risk,  and,  from  the  land 
The  memory  of  Atreus'  line  be  razed. 
A  huntsman  slew  a  tiger  by  its  lair, 
And  found  its  cub  within,  and  pitied  it, 
And  brought  it  home.      It  played  about  the  house, 
Like  any  kitten,  till  its  claws  were  grown, 
Then,  one  fine  morning,  being  fain  of  flesh, 
It  sprang  upon  its  master,  and  devoured 
The  hand  that  nursed  it.      I  would  'scape  such  fate. 

Cl.YTVEMNESTRA. 

So  be  it  as  thou  \vilt.      Both  daughters  gone  ! 
Ah  me,  how  one  deed  draws  another  on  ! 


18 

ACT  IV. 


( i minis  before  the  palace. 

1ST    GUARD. 

The  king's  at  meat,  and  we  before  his  doors 
Must  hold  our  watch.     At  feasting,  feasting  still 
And  up  the  chimney  flies  the  savory  smell 
Of  roast  and  sodden  beast  and  bird  and  fish, 
By  many  a  starving  hunter's  peril  caught; 
But  of  it  all  the  poor  man  wins  no  more 
Than  yon  same  chimney-bounty  flung  to  air. 
Ah  !   many  a  long  year  have  the  poor  forgotten 
The  pathway  to  these  doors ;  preferring  ills 
Of  hunger,  nakedness,  cold  and  weariness, 
Under  the  open  sky,  to  blows  and  curses 
At  palace  gates. 

21)    Gl'AKI). 

It  was  not  always  so. 

There  was  a  time  when  lameness  leaped  with  joy 
At  sight  of  these  same  smokes  ;  and  nakedness 
Was  clad  and  sheltered  in  expectancy 
Before  it  reached  these  halls  ;  nor  only  so, 
But  found  its  hope  of  bounty  realized, 
Even  upon  the  threshold. 

PYI.ADES  eaten. 
Who  comes  here  ? 

PYLADES. 

Is  this  the  palace  of  great  Agamemnon  ? 


19 

3D  GUARD. 
It  was;  but  now  yEgisthus  reigns  instead. 

PYI.ADF.S. 

/Egisthus?    I  had  thought  the  line  of  Atreus 
Still  held  dominion  o'er  the  Argive  land. 

31)  GUARD. 

Thou  must  have  come  from  far  not  to  have  known 
The  ills — the  changes — that  have  happened  here. 

PYLADES. 

The  ills? 

3D  GUARD. 

I  said  not  so.      The  word  slipped  out. 
I  meant  no  slander  'gainst  my  lord,  the  king. 


It  matters  not  ;    hut  are  the  times  so  changed 
From  what  they  were  when  great  Atreides  lived? 
Ruled  the  great  king  as  one  that  loved  his  land? 


Ay  !   so  he  ruled. 

PYLAUES. 

Hut  did  he  leave  no  son 
To  follow  in  his  steps  and  to  receive 
The  scepter  from  his  hand? 

IST  GUARD. 
A  son  he  left. 

Hut  if  he  live  we  know  not.      Long  ago, 
He  to  the  Phocian  land  far  off  was  borne. 


20 


The  Phocian  land  !     The  prince's  name? 

IST  GUARD. 
Orestes. 

PYLADES. 

Ah,  hapless  youth  !     Long  since  the  tale  was  told 
Of  his  young  death.     But,  how  he  died  I  know  not, 
Whether  by  hostile  steel,  or  fang  of  boar, 
Turned  in  the  breathless  hunt,  or  in  the  crush 
Of  chariot-wheels  confused  with  trampling  hoofs, 
Or  in  the  treacherous  wave  ;  but  this  I  know  : 
The  Phocian  air  no  more  shall  fan  his  cheek. 

2D  GUARD. 

Woe,  woe,  and  woe  on  woe  !     Unhappy  Atreus, 
Thy  race  is  at  an  end.     No  more  thy  sons 
With  firm  but  gentle  rule  shall  sway  the  land. 
The  blow  that  slew  Atreides  slew  thy  line. 

PYLADE.S. 

Yet  were  it  that  Orestes  had  not  died, 
Would  there  now  be  in  Argos  loyal  hearts 
To  welcome  him,  and  win  his  throne  for  him  ? 

GUARDS. 
Ay  !     Ay  ! 

PYLADES. 

Oh,  that  the  grave  might  yield  its  prey, 
Restore  thee  to  the  light,  ill-starred  Orestes  ! 

ORESTES  enters  and  advances  to  his  father's  tomb.      'J'h< 
uards  start  back, 


21 


GUARDS. 

A  miracle  !     The  gods  have  given  back 
Not  young  Orestes,  but  the  King  of  Men. 

ORKSTES,  without  heeding  them,  cuts  off  a  lock  of  his  hair, 
and  lays  it  upon  his  father 's  tomb. 

ORESTES. 

Thou  god  that  rulest  the  gloomy  underworld, 
Grant  that  my  father's  murder  be  avenged 
By  me,  this  day.     Ye  gods  that  sit  above, 
And  mete  out  bliss  and  woe  to  mortal  kind, 
Give  me  to-day  to  gain  my  father's  throne. 
So  will  I  rule,  as  he  ruled,  in  the  fear 
Of  all  the  gods,  and  in  goodwill  to  men. 

To  the  guards. 

Hehold  your  king  !     Alas,  that  I  so  speak, 

Not  he  that  lies  beneath  !     The  gods  rule  all. 

Will  ye  here  serve  me  as  ye  served  my  sire 

At  Ilium,  when  the  Trojan  shafts  fell  thick, 

And  the  ground  shook  with  shock  of  trampling  steeds, 

And  gods,  contending,  clouded  all  the  air? 

GUARDS. 
Ay,  king  !  Our  hearts,  our  arms  are  thine.     Lead  on! 

ORESTES. 

Not  yet.     I'd  slay  the  villain  where  he  slew 
My  father,  by  this  grave.     Withdraw,  but  stand 
To  come  at  call.     If  Jie  should  call  you,  come  ; 
He  doubtless  will  find  need,  if  not  its  help. 

They  go  out. 


22 

ACT  V. 


ELECTRA,  coming  out  of  the  palace,  sings. 

ELECTKA. 
Smile  out,  thou  sun,  in  splendor, 

And  gild  the  violet's  bloom, 
Till  all  its  blossoms  render 

Their  homage  of  perfume  ; 

But  be  thy  beams  withholden 
From  eyes  that  weep  like  mine. 

For  suns  that  shone  of  olden, 
And  nevermore  shall  shine. 

Come  rather  thou,  uncheery, 

Dark  winter  of  my  choice, 
With  freezing  winds  a-weary, 

That  lend  the  midnight  voice  : 

And,  while  thy  snows  drift  over 

The  forest's  fallen  pride, 
Oh  !   let  their  whiteness  cover 

My  hopes  that  paled  and  died. 

O  brother,  promise-broken, 

Where  drawest  thou  thy  breath  ? 

Alas  !   delay  is  token 

'Tis  not  delay,  but  death. 

.KcJIsTHUS  f  nines  out  of  the  palace  -until  his  sword  draw 

.  KGISTHTS.  - 

Thy  lips  have  said  it.     Be  it  unto  thee. 
Take  thy  farewell  of  all  thou  lookest  on. 


23 

ELECTRA. 
What  means  my  lord  ? 

/EGISTHUS. 

I  mean  that  them  shalt  die, 
Now,  by  my  sword. 

ELECTRA. 

O  brother,  brother,  come  ! 
Thou  dost  not  mean  it.      Nay,  thou  wouldst  not  slay 

me. 

I  have  no  power  to  wrong  thee.     I  am  but 
A  weak  and  helpless  girl.     Let  me  go  hence. 
If  I  so  vex  thy  sight,  let  me  become 
A  peasant  maid.     Thou  wilt  not  see  me  then. 
Nay,  do  not  slay  me.     Think  upon  my  brother. 
Haply  he  lives,  and  thou  shalt  live  to  rue 
The  taking  of  my  life.      Beware  his  wrath. 

.•EGISTHUS. 

Hope  nothing  from  thy  brother.      He,  long  since, 
Lay  dead  in  Phocian  soil  ;  and  thou,  this  day, 
Here  where  thou  standeth.  shalt  be  laid  in  earth. 


ORESTES. 

Twice  hast  thou  lied,  immeasurable  villain  ! 
Orestes  lives,  nor  by  thy  coward  hand 
Shall  my  sweet  sister  die.      Her  children's  children 
Shall  curse  thy  memory. 


24 


ELECTRA. 
My  father  !     So 
I  saw  him  yesternight.     Great  sir,  speak  to  me. 

ORESTES. 
I'm  not  thy  father,  but  thy  brother,  dearest. 

ELECTRA. 
Orestes  ! 

ORESTES. 
Not  another,  dear  Electra. 

ORESTES  and  ELECTRA  embrace.     /KGISTHUS,   recovering 
his  sivord,  springs  forward. 


The  braggart  fool  !     Now  I  will  slay  them  both. 

PVLADES,  li'/w  has  sloivly  entered,  leaps  forward  and  parries 
the  bloii)  aimed  at  ORESTES,  ivhen  ORESTES,  realizing  his 
danger,  turns  upon  /EciSTHl'S. 

/EGISTHUS. 

What,  two  of  you?  Ho  !   guardmen,  help!    What,  ho  ! 


Here,  seize  these  strangers  ;   bind  them  hand  and  foot. 

ORESTES. 
Form  ye  around,  nor  let  yon  wretch  escape. 


Thou  seest  who  masters  here  ;   fool,  that  believed 
The  throne  of  Atreus  could  endure  the  shame 


25 


Of  thy  polluted  form.      Behold,  to-day 

Thy  death  is,  and  the  scattering  of  thy  bones 

To  wolves  and  hawks. 

/EGISTHUS. 

It  was  too  long  Orestes 

That  thou  delayedst  return, — for  now  we  see 
Thou  art  none  other  than  thy  father's  son, 
And  king  of  Argive  land.     How  hast  thou  thriven 
There  where  our  forethought  placed  thee  ?    For  we 

feared 

Some  ill  had  met  thee,  it  had  been  so  long 
Since  news  of  thee  came  hither ;  but,  at  last, 
Thou  hast  returned  in  safety  to  receive 
Our  welcome.     Argos  welcomes  back  with  joy 
Its  king,  into  whose  royal  hands  we  yield, 
With  joy  no  less,  the  realm  we  kept  for  him. 

ORKSTKS. 

Woven  of  lies  and  guile,  think' st  thou  to  stay 
My  vengeance  with  sleek  words  ?  No,  on  this  ground, 
Where  thy  vile  hand  struck  at  my  father's  life, 
This  steel  shall  spill  thy  blood. — Prince,  guard  the 
girl. 

ORKSTKS  falls  upo>i  /KoisTHUs  with  his  sword,  and  they 
fight.  PYLADKS  supports  ELKCTRA.  For  some  time  neither 
combatant  prevails.  Finally  .-KoisTHl's  strikes  ORESTES'S 
sword  out  of  his  hand,  but,  before  he  can  follow  up  his  ad 
vantage,  PVLADES  gives  ORKSTKS  his  own  sword,  whereupon 
ORESTES  renews  the  fight  with  redoubled  fiirv,  and  soon  lays 
.F.GISTHTS  at  his  feet.  The  guards  shout. 

ORKSTKS. 
Rest  thee,  great  Agamemnon,  thou  'it  avenged  ! 


26 


CLYT^MNESTRA,  hearing  the  uproar,  comes  out  of  the  pal 
ace.  She  looks  first  at  the  bodv  of  her  husband,  and  then  at 
/i  is  victor. 

ORESTES  to  EI.ECTRA. 
Is  that  my  mother  ? 

CLYT/EMNESTRA. 
I  am  she  that  was, 

But  is  no  more  thy  mother.     Let  me  go. 
The  gods  but  toyed  with  me.     They  let  me  sin, 
And  sin  to  hide  my  sin,  and  now  they  front  me 
With  all  my  sins  at  once.      Oh,  what  I  was, 
And  what  I  might  have  been,  and  what  I  am  ! 
Nay,  slay  me  ;  end  me  here.     Let  me  not  live 
Still  to  feel  what  I  am.      In  pity  slay  me. 
If  ever  thou  didst  love  me,  lift  thy  sword, 
And  spill  my  guilty  life.      Strike  here,  my  son. 

ORESTES. 

It  must  not  be.     The  gods  have  set  thy  doom 
To  live  and  know  thyself  for  what  thou  art, 
Till  age  bring  thee  release.     Lead  her  away. 
Drag  off  this  carcase.     Now  unto  the  gods, 
That  have  bestowed  on  us  this  happy  hour 
Will  we  due  offering  make.     Best  Py lades, 
Friend  of  my  heart  of  hearts,  thou  hast  long  since 
Had  all  my  love,  and  I  am  left  too  poor, 
Even  with  love  to  pay  thee  ;   but  thou  knowest 
All  that  I  have  is  thine. 

PYLADES. 

Love  asks  no  pay, 

Else  were  it  greed,  not  love.     Yet,  if  1  durst, 
Thou  hast  one  treasure  I  would  sue  thee  for. 


27 
ORESTES. 


'Tis  thine  already. 


PYLADES. 
Saith  Electra  so  ? 

ELECTRA. 
Yea,  so,  in  sooth,  my  lord. 

PYLADES. 

Why,  then,  of  men 
Am  I  most  happy.     Here  my  treasure  is. 

ORESTES. 

It  is  too  great  an  honor,  noble  prince. 
Oh  ;    happy  day,  that  sees  my  sire  avenged, 
And  Atreus'  line  restored  unto  its  own  ; 
That  finds  my  sister,  though  but  for  another, 
And  steals  my  friend  to  give  me  back  a  brother. 


THE  DEATH  OF  GUINEVERE. 

THE  tale  the  abbess  told,  she  that  had  been 
The  little  novice,  maid  to  Guinevere. 

It  was  the  season  when  there  falls  no  night, 
But  all  the  dusk,  from  sun  to  sun,  is  filled 
With  golden  twilight  deepening  into  dawn. 
Then  all  the  air  is  fragrance,  all  the  earth 
Fit  carpeted  for  foot-stool  of  its  King 
With  bloom  and  softness.     Every  hour  is  fair, 
But  fairest  glows  the  even,  when  the  west 
Uplifts  its  gates  of  pearl,  and  over  them 
The  roofs  and  towers  and  spires  of  ruby  and  gold. 
Then  pious  hearts  think  on  the  heavenly  city, 
And  saintly  eyes,  wept  dim  o'er  sins  forgiven, 
Now  weep  for  rapture  of  the  glory  revealed. 
But  song  of  bird  nor  breath  of  blossom  touched 
With  any  thrill  the  sick  heart  of  the  queen. 
Upon  her  bed  she  lay.     Around,  her  maids 
Stood  weeping,  while  her  fevered  dreams  outbrake 

"  He  loves  me  still,  and  now  I  go  to  him 
To  be  his  bride  within  the  halls  of  light. 
Upon  their  threshold  he  stands  waiting  for  me, 
My  Arthur,  king ;  but  not  as  first  I  went 
Go  I  to  meet  him  in  that  purer  world. 
This  time  how  gladly,  knowing  him  at  last ! 
Dreaming  no  more  of  pomp  and  dalliance, 


•29 


But  sadly,  chastened  with  repented  sin. 
And  purified  by  toil  and  fast  and  prayer, 
I  go  to  meet  him  who  shall  welcome  me. 
He  loves  me,  ay  !  and  even  as  at  first, 
When  he  loved  only  what  he  deemed  I  was, 
Not  what  I  was  indeed.     But  now,  made  fair, 
Save  for  these  scars  of  memory,  I  rise 
Assured  of  thine  acceptance,  O  my  King  ! 

He  loves  me.      But  with  earthly  lips  he  spake. 

Will  he  now  love  me  in  the  spirit  world, 

Where  hearts  are  undisguised,  no  beauty  shines 

Hut  of  the  soul,  nor  any  charm  allures, 

Save  only  purity  and  holiness? 

Are  there  not  myriads  in  the  world  of  bliss 

To  be  whose  handmaid  I  were  all  unmeet? 

Consorts  he  not  with  these,  and  how  through  them 

Should  I  win  way  to  him  ?     Far  other  thoughts 

Than  memory  of  me  must  fill  his  soul. 

Who  wronged  him  so  and  served  him  here  so  ill. 

He  loves  me  :   rather  say  he  hates  me  not. 

So  at  least  unrebuked  I  may  behold  him. 

Only  to  see  him,  this  were  joy  enough, 

My  Arthur.      Nay,  but  shall  I  be  content 

Only  to  see  him  ?    Was  it  but  for  this 

My  soul  hath  yearned  and  hoped  and  struggled  on 

These  weary  years?     Hath  he  no  kiss  for  me? 

May  I  not  clasp  his  knees,  and  in  my  love 

Have  him  again  all  mine,  my  own  ? 

But  what 

If  in  that  world  the  sight  of  me  were  pain, 
Despite  his  love?    As  how  should  it  not  be, 


30 

Seeing  that  sin  o'erlived  is  not  undone, 

Nor  can  forgiveness  blot  out  memory  ? 

Were  sight  of  me  to  waken  in  his  heart 

Old  woes,  and  quicken  anguish  of  slain  hopes, 

Could  it  be  love  should  lead  me  to  his  side? 

Shall  I  buy  joy  again  with  pain  to  him  ? 

Have  I  not  wronged  his  love  enough  on  earth, 

But  I  must  haunt  him  in  the  heavenly  world, 

And  be  his  hindrance  there?    O  Arthur,  Arthur, 

Must  1  then  see  thee  not  ?    May  nevermore 

Thy  kingly  glance  of  love  sink  in  my  heart  ? 

1  love  thee,  love  thee  .'    All  my  penitence 

Hath  been  made  light  by  promise  of  thy  love  ; 

But  do  I  love  thee  so  that  for  love's  sake 

I  will  not  see  thee  more ;  that  for  all  years 

Of  all  eternity  I  can  deny 

Myself  thy  face,  to  spare  thee  sight  of  mine, 

My  love,  my  hope,  my  strength,  my  life,  my  king? 

Yea  for  thy  sake  I  will." 

Here  ceased  the  queen, 
And  on  her  face  a  deadly  pallor  fell, 
The  light  sank  from  her  eyes  ; — then  leaped  again, 
And  in  her  cheek  the  rosy  flush  of  youth 
Flashed,  and  a  smile  like  summer  bent  her  lips  ; 
She  cried  again  "  O  Arthur  !  "  and  the  smile 
Lingered,  but  she  had  gone  to  meet  her  king. 

Through   the   bowed   window   came   the   breath  of 

morn, 
And  high  in  heaven  the  bright  lark  sang  for  glee. 


31 

THE  GREAT  ADMIRAL. 

ONLY  when  leagues  of  sea  shut  out  the  land, 
Do  men  discern  what  mountains  highest  stand  ; 
So  the  long  years  that  lesser  glory  drown, 
Reveal  at  last,  ()  Farragut,  thy  renown  ! 

We  knew  thee  bold  to  dare, 
We  knew  thee  strong  to  do  ; 
We  made  new  honors  for  thee  to  wear. 
Till  the  four  stars,  set  in  blue, 
Flashed  in  the  old-world  skies 
The  splendor  of  thine  emprise. 
But  now  how  little  it  all  appears  ! 
W7e  bowed  to  the  mighty  Captain, 

But  not  the  mightier  man  ; 

We  honored  the  six  swift  hours  of  crash  and  flame, 
But  not  the  fifty,  dragging,  unknown  years, 
(Hard  hammocks  are  heroes  wrapped  in  !) 

Before  the  summons  came, 
And  Farragut's  hour  began. 

Now  we  see  thee  as  thou  wast — 
Too  true  to  follow  fame, 

And  faithful  at  thy  cost ; 
So  tender,  thy  tears  would  start 

At  the  sight  of  brave  blood  poured, 
So  gentle  in  triumph,  the  foeman's  heart 

Was  given  with  his  sword  ; 
Friend  unfailing,  pattern  of  men, 
As  husband,  father,  and  citizen, 
Through  praise  and  through  dispraise  the  same. 
O  mightiest  toiler  of  the  sea, 


With  one  hand  holding  the  waves  in  tee, 
And  the  other  over  the  mainland  shut  : 
Earth's  greatest  admiral, 
Though  last  yet  first  of  all. 
Yea,  chief  of  those  whom  age  to  age  shall  name 
Lords  of  the  sea,  De  Ruyter,  Nelson,  Farragut ! 

Some  foemen  to  defeat 

Bringeth  but  little  fame. 
Not  such  the  warriors  it  was  thine  to  meet- 
Men  bronzed  in  battle-flame, 
And,  but  for  the  wrong  they  bled  to  save. 
The  bravest  of  the  brave. 
Stout  hearts  in  the  hopeless  fight, 
Ye  could  conquer  all  but  the  right : 

How  manfully  ye  fought ! 
Thunder  of  cannon  from  mound  and  wall. 

Earthquake  shock  in  the  river  bed. 
And,  crackling  down  through  all, 
The  fearful  fire-ships  red  ! 

Such  was  the  work  ye  wrought ; 
And  then,  after  all  to  meet 
The  iron  strength  of  your  fleet — 

Grim  task  ye  set  for  us  ! 
But,  if  ever  the  day  shall  come — 
As  we  trust  may  never  be — 
When  a  foe  from  over  the  sea 
Shall  strike  at  our  land  and  home, 
Ye  shall  meet  him  even  thus  ; 
Ye  shall  fight  with  us,  side  by  side, 
With  crash  of  earthquake  and  lightning  stroke, 
Till  the  foe  shall  slink  away  in  the  smoke, 


33 


If  he  yet  have  strength  to  flee. 
From  defiling  this  hallowed  shore. 
That,  forevermore  and  forevermore. 
Only  the  seasons  shall  divide. 

And  a  patriots'  rivalry. 

But,  if  ever  in  fight  it  should  befal 
That  the  foe,  for  a  space,  shall  seem  to  win. 
Then  let  his  boldest  hearts  beware, 
For,  on  a  sudden,  none  knoweth  from  where, 
A  ship  shall  steer  through  the  fierv  din, 
That  flieth  the  stars  of  the  Admiral. 

—Ye  shall  know  her  by  her  long  white  deck, 

Unmarred  by  battle  wreck  ; 
And  in  her  shrouds,  trumpet  in  hand. 
The  Admiral  shall  stand. — 
She  heeds  not  wave  nor  wind. 
She  leaves  no  wake  behind. 
No  shot  her  hull  may  feel. 
But  h-ar  black  stem  sheareth  oak  and  steel  ; 
And  woe  worth  the  proudest  foe's  renown, 
On  whom  the  Hartford  beareth  down. 

And  then,  when  the  wars  are  over. 

Perchance,  of  a  summer  night, 
Some  pleasure-crew  shall  discover, 
As  they  lie  becalmed  in  the  light 
Of  the  full  moon  swung  at  height. 
A  stately  ship  dash  by, 

With  open  ports  aglow— 
A  cloud  of  white  on  the  sky, 

That  leaves  no  shadow  below  ; 
( )r,  haply,  some  fisher,  blown  off  shore, 


34 


In  the  swirl  of  a  winter  storm. 
Shall  tell  how  he  steered  to  land  once  more, 
In  the  light  of  a  ghostly  form. 
That  sped  along,  full  sail, 
In  the  teeth  of  the  winter  gale, 
With  only  a  graceful  heel  and  dip. — 
It  is  the  grand  old  ship, 
Where  Farragut,  still  on  guard, 
Keepeth  perpetual  watch  and  ward 
Over  the  long  Atlantic  shore, 
From  granite  Maine,  with  its  deep-sea  roar, 
To  the  fragrant  waves  of  the  Gulf  that  he  quelled  of 
vore. 


SEA  AND  SHORE. 

OUR  Mother,  loved  of  all  thy  sons 
So  dear,  they  die,  not  dying  for  thee  ; 

Yet  are  thy  fondest,  tenderest  ones 
Thy  wanderers  far  at  sea. 

Life-long  the  bitter  blue  they  stem, 
Till  custom  makes  it  almost  fair  ; 

Sweet  grow  the  splintering  gales  to  them, 
The  icy  gloom,  the  scorching  glare. 

But  thy  dear  eyes,  which  shine  for  all, 

They  see  not,  save  through  homesick  tears. 

Or  when  thy  smile,  through  battle-pall, 
Pays  death  and  all  their  painful  years. 


Fair  freedom's  gospel  soundeth  now 
Through  softer  lips  than  those  of  steel ; 

Rust  gathers  on  the  iron  prow, 

And  shore  weeds  clog  the  resting  keel ; 

To-day  thou  askest  life,  not  death  : 

Our  lives,  for  life  and  death,  are  thine; 

Sweet  are  long  years,  and  peaceful  breath. 
And  sunny  age  beneath  its  vine  ; 

But  there  are  those  that  deem  more  fair 
(O  Mother,  seen  at  last  again  !) 

That  smile  the  dying  see  thee  wear, 
Choosing  thine  own  among  the  slain. 

Yet,  being  thine,  we  shall  be  brave, 
And,  being  thine,  we  will  be  true  ; 

Where'er  thou  callest,  on  field  or  wave. 
We  wait,  thv  will  to  do. 


BALDER. 

NOT  as  erst  wen  test  thou, 

Borne  on  the  flame-ship, - 
Low  thy  head  bentest  thou, 
Look  nor  word  lentest  thou 

Her  on  the  same  ship, — 
Come  not,  thou  stainless  one, 

Wan  to  our  weeping, 
Come  thou  the  painless  one, 
Weapon-attainless  one, 


36 

Light  from  thee  leaping. 
Breidablik  waits  for  thee, 
Wide  are  its  gates  for  thee, 
Longeth  its  throne  for  thee. 
Lie  its  halls  lone  for  thee, 
Loud  maketh  moan  for  thee 

Odin  unsleeping. 

Moonlight  they  needed  not. 

There  on  that  high  day ; 
Sunlight  they  heeded  not, 

Standing  in  thy  day  ; 
Glad  were  all  hearts  of  thee, 
Fain  were  all  darts  of  thee, 

Hurled  in  thine  honor  ; 
Darts  all  were  foiled  of  thee, 
All  hearts  despoiled  of  thee, 
She,  still  aglow  for  thee, 
Sinketh  with  woe  for  thee. 

Death  graspeth  on  her. 

Woe's  me  for  Balder  slain. 

Valhal  benighted  ! 
Woe's  me  for  Balder's  bane, 

Mistletoe  slighted  ! 
Woe's  me  thy  slaying  hand, 

Loki,  the  shameless  ! 
Woe's  me,  obeying  hand, 

Hoder's  the  blameless  ! 
Woe's  me  nigh  sorest  for 

Nanna,  the  blossom  ! 
Her  that  thou  worest  for 

Joy  on  thy  bosom. 


37 

Swift  through  the  swaying 

Shroud  of  the  darkness. 
Who  is  the  horseman, 

Hither  that  speedeth  ? 
Wide  are  his  wan  eyes ; 

Wet  with  sweat  drops, 
Hangeth  his  hair  down, 

Hot  on  his  brow. 

He  is  Hermod, 

Helhome  seeketh  he, 
Balder  the  Beautiful 

Bidden  to  save. 
Sleipner  bestrideth  he. 

Steed  of  Odin  ; 
Weeping  await  him, 

Wakeful,  the  gods. 

Answer,  thou  speeding  one. 
Hasting,  unheeding  one, 

Back  from  the  wonder- world, 

Spurring  thy  steed, 
How  to  our  eyes  again, 
Balder  shall  rise  again, 

Bought  from  the  underworld, 
What  is  the  meed  ? 

Backward  the  blast 
Beareth  an  answer  ; 

Hushed,  men  hear, 
Hardly  with  breathing  ; 

Gold  shall  they  give, 
Glory  of  jewels  ? 


38 

What  is  the  weird  ? 
"Weep,"  answered  Hermod. 

Weep  !  thou  hadst  never  died 

Might  tears  avail  us  ; 
Weep  !  ay,  till  ever  dried, 

Tear-drops  shall  fail  us  ! 
Weep  !  ah,  but  weepeth  not 

Loki  the  scornful ; 
Woe-tide  he  keepeth  not. 

Whoso  be  mournful. 
Hel  but  derideth  us, 

Our  tears  and  thy  tears, 
Weird  now  divideth  us, 

Thok  weepeth  dry  tears. 

Nevermore,  nevermore. 
Never  forever  more, 
Back  cometh  Balder 

To  Asgard  again. 
Niflhome  foldeth  him, 
Blae  Hel  withhold'eth  him. 
Faint  grow  his  foot-prints 

On  Breidablik's  plain. 

Blae  Hel  withholdeth  him, 
Niflhome  foldeth  him, 
Asgard  forgetteth  him. 

Urd  waxeth  old. — 
Lo  !   where  supernal ly. 
Risen  eternally, 
Rules  he  from  Ragnarok 

Empires  untold  ! 


39 


AFTERGLOW. 

JACINTH,  heliotrope,  amethyst, 

And  daintier  colors  that  have  no  name, 

Have  met  and  kissed  in  the  sunset's  tryst, 

Till  the  blue  sky  flushes  with  rosy  flame  ; 

And  the  darker  tints  the  violets  know 

Throb  in  the  burning  afterglow, 

Till  suddenly,  refulgent,  bright, 

The  Star  of  Love  leaps  through  the  fiery  gloom. 

As  radiant,  warm  and  white, 

As  Aphrodite  from  the  billowy  bloom. 


WEDLOCK. 

OH  joy  I   behold  the  earth  new  born. 

The  former  things  have  passed  away, 

And  hate  and  malice,  wrath  and  scorn 
Have  melted  in  love's  ray. 

The  life  that  dragged  through  scale  and  claw 
The  earth-stain  and  the  stony  weight, 

Leaps  up  an  angel  by  love's  law. 
Erect,  emancipate. 

And  holiness  no  longer  gleams 

A  cold  and  distant-shining  star. 

But  round  me  flash  its  murmuring  streams, 
Its  groves  my  covert  are. 


40 


The  birds  are  singing  "  Love,  love,  love  !  " 
For  love  the  warm  .sun  shines  on  high, 

And  in  my  heart  a  bliss  above 

The  noonday  light  makes  melody. 

Sweet  wife,  mine  own,  mine,  only  mine, 
Long  sought,  at  last  all,  all  mine  own, 

In  reverence  our  lives  combine, 

And  mount  on  honor  as  a  throne. 


IN  THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE  BLIND  THE 
ONE-EYED  IS  KING. 

In  the  Kingdom  of  the  Blind, 
Softness,  harmony  I  find, 
Fragrance,  flavors  ne'er  excelled, — 
All  that  pleases  unbeheld. 
But  the  people  have  no  eyes, 
And  they  hear  with  wild  surprise, 
With  a  measureless  delight, 
When  I  speak  to  them  of  sight, 
Press  to  learn  the  wondrous  thing, 
Clasp  me,  crown  me,  hail  me  king ; 

Me  !  that  in  the  Land  of  Seeing, 
Have  but  half  a  scanty  being, 
Am  despised  and  scorned  of  men, — 
But  in  Blindman's-Land,  ah  !   then, 
You  should  hear  of  my  renown, 
You  should  see  my  robe  and  crown  ! 

Impromptu,  28th  Sept.,  1884. 


41 


POETS. 

CREATURES  of  the  kind  that  browse 
The  yet  unwithered  Eden  boughs  ; 
All  qualities  in  them  unite, 
"  The  quintessence  of  every  sprite," 
Dantean  groans,  Homeric  laughter  ; 
Eye-witnesses  of  all  the  past, 
They  hold  the  present's  rapture  fast, 
Contemporaries  of  the  hereafter. 


CHAMPLAIN  GLIMPSES. 

WHERE  the  brimmed  sky  hath  spilt  itself  between 
The  parted  Emerald  and  Empire  states, 

A  wavering  line,  from  Horicon,  the  sheen, 
To  where  the  lake-devouring  Lawrence  waits 

For  sweet  Champlain,  which  still  smiles  on  serene, 
Now  stretching  broad,   now  cramped  by  frowning 
straits, 

Now  nestling  to  uplift  a  cup  of  blue, 

Distilled  of  pines'  and  harebells'  honey-dew ; 

And  on  this  deep-blue,  lower  heaven  rest 

Sweet  island  stars,  nor  want  there  cloudlets  white 

To  lure  the  eye,  -whether  they  lie  caressed 

By  the  smooth  flood,  or  whether,  with  swift  flight, 

They  speed  above  the  water's  fluttered  breast, 
Or  whether,  dimly  outlined  in  the  night, 

They  glide  like  ghosts  by  cliff  and  curving  shore. 

And  charm  the  ear  with  song  when  seen  no  more. 


42 


If  beauty  be  thy  quest,  then  look  around. 

Wears  earth  a  smile  more  radiant  than  this? 
These  rocky,  jutting  headlands,  forest-crowned, 

These  low,  broad  meadows  leaning  down  to  kiss 
The  violet  flood  ;  these  island  crags  fast  bound, 

These  vistas  where  the  eyes  in  wonder  miss 
The  old  embrace  of  wooded  shore  and  sky, 
To  find  the  watery  blue  clasp  that  on  high. 


BARRED  OUT. 

OUT  of  the  schools,  into  the  light  of  God. 

From  dungeon  walls  to  fields  where  Shakespeare  trod 

Out  of  the  churches  into  holiness, 

Where  priest-spurned  Milton  felt  God's  presence  bless 

Out  of  society,  which  frets  and  mars, 

To  solitude  with  earth  and  sea  and  stars  : 

Banished  from  sloth  and  pride  and  discontent. 

O  Heart,  how  easy  is  thy  banishment  ! 


ICARUS. 

'Tis  something,  from  that  tangle  to  have  won  ; 
'Tis  something  to  have  matched  the  wild-bird's  flight 
'Tis  something  to  have  soared  and  touched  the  sun. 
What,  though  the  lashing  billows  roar  beneath? 
Better  than  death  in  life  is  life  in  death  : — 
Good  night  ! 


43 

THE  QUESTION. 

WHO  is  the  more  to  blame, 
The  woman  or  the  man  ? 
Now  tell  me  ye  that  can  ; 

Or  is  their  guilt  the  same, 

And  have  they  equal  shame, 
One  sin  and  ban  ? 

If  he  the  tempter  played, 

Was  she  not  tempter  too, 

Though  most  when  least  she  knew  ? 

And  was  not  woman  made 

Harder  to  be  assayed, 

Though  weaker  once  untrue  ? 

Let  God  their  guilt  allot. 

Who  made  them  man  and  woman. 

(Who  made  shall  not  undo  man  !) 
The  worst  are  bad,  God  wot, 
The  best  not  without  spot, 

And  all  are  human. 

Impromptu,  2Qth  Dec.,  1883. 


BLINDNESS. 

NOT  only  "with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not ;  " 
Life-long  we  walk  through  Canaan's  land, 
Unweeting  but  of  desert  sand. 


44 


THE  BURDEN. 

To  make  life  lovelier  and  Heaven  nearer, 
Truth  more  delightful,  and  its  pathway  clearer. 
And  holiness  more  attainable  and  dearer  ; 

Teaching  that  beauty  is  no  more  nor  less 
Than  the  eternal  radiance  of  holiness, 
And  never  vice  clad  in  a  brighter  dress  ;    ' 

That  love  and  lust  are  mutual  foes  that  slay. 
Love  from  Heaven  a  world-enlightening  ray, 
And  lust  a  smothering  smoke  of  Hell-birth  aye  ; 

That  only  one  truth  means  all  lies  but  one. 
That  all  truth  often  means  not  all  but  none. 
That  truth  and  lies  oft  in  one  thread  are  spun  : 

The  blackest  pool  will  show  an  angel's  face, 
If  but  an  angel  shadow  it ;  such  grace 
Hath  holiness,  such  hidden  good  the  base  ; — 

For  song  is  when  the  poet's  heart  o'er  flows, 

Far  lie  its  springs  ;   thou  seest  nor  rains  nor  snows, 

Nor  the  dark  ways  that  crystal  water  goes. 


ST.   ELIZABETH.* 

FAIR  maid,  whom  silken  robes  adorn 

Less  than  thy  purity  and  grace, 
What  shadow,  on  thy  bridal  morn, 

Is  this  that  falls  upon  thy  face  ? 

*The  last  painting  by  Miss  Eliza  Austin.  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary  is 
represented  as  a  young  and  beautiful  girl  in  bridal  array,  standing  with 
down-cast  eyes.  The  pose  of  the  figure  is  inexpressibly  sweet  and  maid 
enly.  I  was  honored  by  the  assurance  of  the  lamented  artist  that  I  had 
correctly  interpreted  in  my  lines  the  thoughts  of  the  "dear  saint." 


45 

Is  joy  to  sorrow  so  akin 

That  love  must  bring  thee  downcast  eyes, 
And  present  raptures  only  win 

Thy  soul  to  banished  miseries? 

Delayest  thou,  whose  head  so  long 
Was  bowed  in  sorrow  as  in  night, 

To  lift  thine  eyes,  lest,  rayed  too  strong, 
Fond  Love  should  blind  thee  with  its  light? 

Or  is  thy  dread  that  earthly  bliss 
And  sweets  of  human  love  may  lure 

Thy  soul  from  Him  whose  own  it  is, 
Who  died  to  make  thy  life  secure  ? 

But  fear  not,  sweet  Elizabeth, 

Thy  feet  are  in  the  heavenly  way  ; 

Thou  shalt  not  lose,  in  life  or  death, 
His  hand  to  lead,  His  arm  to  stay. 

The  Master  still  hath  need  of  thee, 
On  this  dark  earth  a  light  to  shine ; — 

So  shalt  thou  live,  and  thus  shall  be 
That  early  going-forth  of  thine  ; 

As  when,  o'er  purple  heights  of  snow, 
Descends  the  hastening  winter  sun, 

Leading  men's  eyes  aloft,  and  lo  ! 

The  shining  host,  whereof  'tis  one. 
25th  July,  1886. 


46 

COUSIN  NELL. 

WE  have  thee  still.     Life  had  to  fame  revealed  thee  ; 

Pain  kept  thee  ours  alone  ; 
And  death,  releasing  thee  from  pain,  hath  sealed  thee 

Immortally  our  own. 


Thou  seest  now,  with  angel  vision  clearer, 

The  sweet  home-world  we  see, 
And  the  fair  heavens  have  fairer  grown  and  dearer, 

Beheld  again  by  thee. 


Ay,  and  above  the  orbs  of  His  creation, 

Thou  seest  the  Ineffable  ; 
Thy  lips  take  up  the  anthemed  adoration 

That  seraph  voices  swell. 


There  doubts  no  more  the  hunted  spirit  capture, 

Nor  any  pains  annoy  ; 
No  tears  are  there,  or  only  tears  of  rapture. 

No  burden  but  of  joy. 


Oh,  earthly  dream  !    What  knew  the  clod  of  seeing, 

Or  wist  of  nature's  plan, 
Before  God  breathed  on  it,  and  thrilled  with  being, 

The  dust  leaped  up  a  man  ? 

1 5th  Nov.,  1885. 


47 

ESTRANGED. 

LIGHT  on  the  lake, 

And  mirth  on  the  lea  , 
Rest  and  gladness 

To  thee  and  me ; 

Gray  wings  glancing 
Athwart  the  sky, 

Music  swelling 

Through  tree-tops  high 

White  sails  bending 

With  flash  or  gloom. 

Fragrance  outbreathing 

From  leaf  and  bloom  ; 

The  half-seen  veil 

O'er  the  sky  hovering, - 
Was  it  cloud  or  smoke. 

Or  an  angel's  wing? 

Oh  !  joys  that  fled, 

To  come  not  again  ! 

Oh  !   hope  and  longing, 
Which  left  but  pain  ! 


FATED. 

"  COME  up,"  he  said,  "  the  walls  are  low, 
Pluck  heart,  and  lightly  leap  them  o'er. 

Alas  !  the  walls  of  Heaven  bow 
Before  the  chosen  and  no  more. 


48 


THE  SEASONS. 

WHEN  winter  skies  are  polished  green, 
And  pine  trees  tall  with  snow-drifts  lean, 
And  black  brooks  gurgle  out  of  sight, 
Beneath  the  dimpled  snow-crust  white, 
And  birchen  underwoods  do  dress 
In  lace-work  of  their  leaflessness ; 
Oh  !   then,  methinks,  of  all  the  year. 
The  windy  winter  is  most  dear. 

When  spring  has  on  the  willows  lighted, 
And  redder  combs  the  cocks  have  dighted, 
And  through  the  lingering  twilight's  gold. 
The  swollen  brooks  roar  manifold. 
And,  day  by  day,  the  pastures  gray- 
Grow  green  in  spite  of  flocks  that  stray  ; 
'Tis  then,  of  all  the  full  year  brings, 
I  deem  the  richest  gifts  the  spring's. 

The  hovering  skies  are  soft  and  blue. 
Which  massy,  white  clouds,  loitering  through. 
Trail  mile-wide  shadows  as  they  pass, 
Above  the  green  and  springing  grass  ; 
The  shielding  elms  are  wide  and  strong, 
The  maples  dusky  grots  of  song, — 
The  high  tide  of  the  heart  and  year, 
The  scented  summer  time  is  here. 

What  thing  is  likest  unto  fall  ? 
The  rainbow's  banded  coronal, 
Cathedral  windows  bright  and  high, 
The  glories  of  the  sunset  sky, 


49 

The  splendor  told  of  tropic  birds. 
Rapture  of  music,  woven  words 
That  bind  the  spell  of  poesy, — 
All  these,  and  all  that  fairest  be,   . 
Reveal  thv  absence,  but  not  thee ! 


1SLK  AU   HAUT. 

HIGHLAND  island  of  the  dee]). 

Isle  au  Hunt ! 

Where  the  storm-winds  wailing  sweep. 
And  the  breakers  flash  and  lea]), 

All  a-row, 
Echoing  up  thy  rocky  steep, 

Isle  au  Haut. 

Thee  we  watch  from  far  away. 

Isle  au  Haut, 

Giant  guardian  of  the  bay, 
Bidding  ocean's  onset  stay, 

Heedless,  though 
Deep  thy  woods  are  drenched  with  spray, 

Isle  au  Haut. 

Utmost  outpost  of  the  land, 

Isle  au  Haut, 

Mountain-walled  on  every  hand, 
With  thy  frothed  and  broken  strand, 

White  as  snow, 
And  thy  lake  the  fairies  planned, 

Isle  au  Haut. 


50 

Miles  away  I  see  thee  shine, 

Isle  au  Haut, 

Sunset  on  those  cliffs  of  thine, 
Rosy-flushed  thy  darkling  pine, 

While,  below, 
Ship-lights  glimmer  on  the  brine, 

Isle  au  Haut ! 


DAY-RED. 

LIGHT,  and  the  fading  of  night ; 

Light  and  the  glory  of  dawn  ; 
Life  the  indwelling  of  light, 

And  death  when  the  light  is  withdrawn 

A  glory  that  feeling  can  see, 

A  glory  that  seeing  can  feel  ; 

A  gleam  of  the  glory  to  be, 

That  earth  cannot  wholly  conceal. 

Light,  and  the  fleeing  of  night, 

Light  and  the  onset  of  day ; — 

But  the  dark  flees  not  always  with  light, 
Nor  waits  for  the  night-time  alway. 


REST. 

THE  head-drawn  arrow  sleeping  on  the  string ; 
The  sky-wrapt  eagle  hung  on  level  wing. 


CHILD  OF  THE  NORTHERN  STAR. 

CHILD  of  the  Northern  Star, 

Rocked  on  the  deep  sea's  breast, 

Earth  calleth  from  afar, 
Leave  now  thy  nest  ! 

Come  from  thy  cliff-built  home. 

Out  of  its  frost  and  foam, 
Child  of  the  Northern  Star 
Like  storm-bird,  come  ! 

Seest  .thou  the  splintered  light, 

Shot  through  the  northern  sky? — 

Leaping  of  sword-blades  bright, 
In  Valhal  high. 

There  sit  thv  fathers  old. 

After  toils  manifold  : 

Child  of  the  Northern  Star. 
15e  thou  as  bold  ! 

Let  winter's  blight  of  doom 
Bury  earth  from  foot  and  eye. 

Let  winter's  awful  bloom 
Blaze  in  the  sky  ; 

Then  let  the  summer's  glee 

Glimmer  on  land  and  sea  : 
Child  of  the  Northern  Star, 
"Pis  not  for  thee  ! 

Thy  path  to  southward  lies, 
Unto  the  lands  of  the  sun. 

Where  stricken  Freedom  cries, 
Heeded  by  none. 


52 

Hence,  haste  to  help  her,  go, 
Smite  down  her  dastard  foe, 
Child  of  the  Northern  Star, 
Help  !   Southward,  ho  ! 


NOT  THE  SAME. 

NOT  the  same,  oh  !  not  the  same, 

Mounts  the  brightening  sun  at  morn  ; 
Not  the  same,  nor  yet  the  same, 

Dips  the  moon  her  golden  horn. 
Sweet  the  morning  light  may  be, 
Silver  sweet  on  land  and  sea, 

Fair  the  moon  on  wave  and  shore, 

Fair  and  golden  as  before, 
Sweet  and  fair,  but  changed  to  me, 

Seeing  thee,  alas  !   no  more. 

Not  the  same,  though  sweet  and  fair. 

Sweet  and  fair,  but  not  the  same  ; 
For  a  sadness  everywhere 

Broods  with  whisperings  of  thy  name  : 
Veils  the  risen  morning's  light, 
Deepens  with  the  deepening  night. 

Mourns  thee  on  the  murmuring  strand, 

Sways  about  me  as  I  stand, 
In  a  world  with  summer  bright, 

Seeing  gloom  on  every  hand. 


53 


UNHIDDEN. 

()  BILLOWY  Pines  afar, 

That  belt  with  purple  the  sea, 
Do  you  think  with  your  boughs  to  bar 

The  infinite  ocean  from  me? 

I  see  in  the  wavy  line, 

That  you  pencil  on  the  sky, 

The  sweep  that  the  swaying  brine 
Takes  on  when  the  wind  is  high  ; 

The  beautiful,  shifting  blue, 
That  silkenly  veils  you  alway, 

Is  only  the  ocean's  hue, 

Which,  hiding,  you  betray  ; 

And  I  know  that,  if  I  came  nigh, 
Your  own  would  reveal  to  me 

The  ocean's  tremulous  sigh, 
And  its  perfume  wafted  free  ! 


AUTUMN. 

GOLDEN  and  russet  and  golden, 
Low-lying,  lustrous,  and  still  : 

As  fair  as  the  garden  of  olden, 
That  Adam  was  given  to  till  ! 

Scarlet  and  purple  and  scarlet, 
Emerald,  amber,  and  pearl  ; 

As  brilliant  as  sunset  afar-lit. 

And  soft  as  a  singing  shell's  whorl 


54 


Autumn,  the  queen  of  the  seasons  ! 

Thou  scatterest  beauty  like  rain. 
And,  lo  !   here  we  give  thee  allegiance, 

And,  vassals,  fall  into  thy  train  ! 


LOVE'S  FALTERING. 

WITH  bright  prow  parting  the  waters  wan. 

Love  sailed  from  shore  in  the  morning  gray. 
His  white  sails  taut  with  the  damps  of  dawn. 

His  white  decks  spattered  with  spurting  spray, 
His  banners  blowing  above  the  mist. 

And  flushed  with  a  faint  fore-feeling  glow 
Of  the  rosy  warmth  in  the  reddening  east. 

From  the  sun  of  his  yearning  so  far  below. 

And  ever  the  wake  span  out  astern 

Its  thread  that  whitened  and  frayed  away. 
And  ever  the  banners  did  brightlier  burn. 

And  the  mists  waxed  thinner  and  rosier  aye  : 
And  Love  leaped  laughing  to  see  how  fast 

The  far  shore  sank,  and  laughed  to  behold 
The  red  light  glinting  above  the  mast, 

And  the  low  clouds  blazing  purple  and  gold. 

And  ever  crisping  and  curling  spring 
Twin  sheaves  of  white  athwart  the  prow. 

That,  lifting  ever  and  shattering,  fling 
Their  foam-fruit  over  the  decks  of  snow, 


The  sky  is  throbbing  with  white  and  red, 
And  gilded  is  every  green  wave's  crest. 

But  Love  looks  back  and  sees  with  dread 
The  low  shore  sunk  in  the  kindling  west. 

The  shore  hath  sunk  in  the  kindling  west, 

But  still  the  sunlight  is  not  yet, 
And,  strangely  chilling  on  cheek  and  breast, 

The  breezes  come  from  the  land  that  is  set  ; 
And,  strangely  blinding,  out  of  the  dawn 

A  thousand  blazing  splendors  leap, 
And  Love,  with  pallid  lips  withdrawn, 

Sails  fearfully  down  that  blossoming  deep. 

O  happy  Love,  thou  art  all  alone, 

Thou  art  sailing  alone  on  a  wide,  white  sea, 
And  the  sunlight's  warmth  is  about  thee  thrown. 

And  the  sunlight's  beauty  is  over  thee. 


THE  POET  AND  THE  BIRDS. 

SING  no  more  of  light  on  the  snow, 

From  the  faint  and  southward-shrunken  sun  ; 

No  more  of  winds  that  forget  to  blow, 

For  a  space,  when  the  shivering  day  is  done  ; 

Sing  of  the  songless  winter  no  more, 

For  the  birds  are  piping  at  every  door. 


56 


They  sing  of  a  summer  that  is  to  be, 

And  a  winterless,  aye-bright  summer  afar, 

Which  they,  in  their  kindness,  have  left  that  we 
Might  hearken  and  learn  what  its  beauties  are. 

Liegemen  of  Summer,  children  of  Light, 

How  fondly  the  warm  Sun  follows  your  flight ! 

And  the  children  hear  them,  and  throng  to  the  pane, 

Pale  faces  glad  that  summer  is  nigh  ; 
The  poet  hears  them,  and  murmurs,  "Again/*" 

I  yield  unto  one  that  is  greater  than  I. 
What  need  have  men  of  an  earthly  song, 
When  Heaven  sings  to  them  the  whole  day  long? 

I  sang  in  the  darkness  and  cold  to  men 

Warm  songs  of  hope  from  a  heart  that  was  chill  : 

And  all  took  courage  that  heard  me  then 
But  praised  me  never,  or  singing  or  still ; 

And  here  in  the  warmth,  when  the  winter  is  done, 

There's  that  in  my  bosom  that  knows  not  the  sun. 

()  poets  of  summer,  sing  now  while  ye  may, 

And  gladden  the  earth  with  your  music  and  light  : 

There  yet  must  be  winter,  and  who  shall  dare  say. 
But,  when  ye  have  left  us  to  cold  and  the  night. 

That  somewhere  then  in  the  darkness  may  be 

Some  heart  that  will  fain  hear  a  song  from  me  ?  " 


A    BLUSH. 

HER  cheek,  which  with  the  white  rose  strove  and  won, 
Was  bv  the  red  rose  color  overdone. 


MY  CHILD-LOVE. 

THE  sun  was  in  the  sky, 

The  blue  was  bright  above, 

When  up  the  river  I 

Went  sailing  to  my  love  ; 

The  bonny,  wee  lassie  that  loveth  me, 

The  one  sweet  lassie  I  fain  would  see. 

As  on  and  up  we  sped, 

And  upward  still  and  on, 
The  sunset  fired  and  fled, 

Then  fired,  and  then  was  gone  ; 
The  splendor  faded  into  gray, 
And  white  mists  gathered  along  our  way. 

But  high  above  the  west, 

There  burst  a  splendid  star, 
The  star  of  all  the  best 

To  those  that  loving  are ; 
And  away  in  the  darkling  depths  I  knew 
The  eyes  that  I  love  beheld  it  too. 
I  see  the  star  to-night, 

It  burneth  still  above. 
But  not  the  morrow's  light 

Shall  bring  me  to  my  love  ; 
Yet  the  two  blue  eyes  that  still  I  see, 
I  wonder  if  now  they  watch  for  me. 
And  oh  !   whene'er  again 

I  sail  my  love  to  meet. 
God  grant  I  find  her  then 

As  innocent  and  sweet, 
As  when  her  last  kiss  robbed  my  heart 
Of  all  but  its  longing  and  aching  part. 


58 


PRINCESS  EYEBRIGHT. 

PRINCESS  Eyebright's  seventeen, 

No  more  princess  but  a  queen. 

Who  would  ever  guess  'twas  she 

Used  to  sit  upon  my  knee, 

Bid  we  tell  of  sleeping  Rip, 

Culprit  Fay  and  flying  ship, 

Or,  from  old-world  bring  her  back 

Puss-in-boots  and  climbing  Jack  : 

Then,  when  I  had  said  my  say, 

Pouted  her  bright  lips  for  pay  ? 

Though  she's  grown  since  then,  somehow 

Her  lips  are  farther  from  me  now. 

Yet  she  lifts  in  olden  wise 

Dusky  veiled,  violet  eyes  ; 

But  the  look  they  wear  is  new, 

Shy,  and  yet  so  trustful  too, 

That  I  swear  the  girl  I  miss 

Charmed  me  never  s^'as  this. 


CRITICISM. 

WITH  what  measure  ye  mete  ye  do  therewith 

Measure  unto  yourselves;  and  whosoever 

Judgeth  another,  in  that  selfsame  act, 

Is  by  himself  condemned  ;   for  criticism 

Is  a  two-edged  blade  without  a  handle, 

Whose  sharpest  blows  wound  sorest  him  that  wields. 


59 

BOOT  AND  SADDLE. 

BOOT  and  saddle, 

To  horse  and  away  ! 
Up  with  the  dawn, 

And  on  with  the  day 
Hark  !  afar-off 

Rattles  the  fray ; 
Boot  and  saddle, 

To  horse  and  away  ! 


Up,  where  the  hard  flints 

Flash  as  we  fly. 
On,  where  the  hot  dust 

Rolls  to  the  sky  ; 
Death  flash,  death-cloud 

Wait  us  to-day ; 
Boot  and  saddle, 

To  horse  and  away  ! 


Loud  and  louder 

The  battle  blast  calls, 
Haste  and  hurl  you, 

Where  innocence  falls  ; 
Shame  on  the  coward 

Would  falter  and  stay, 
When,  comrades,  hurrah  ! 

We  are  up  and  away. 


60 


GRANT. 

LAST  of  the  Mighty  Three. 
Upholders  of  liberty, 
Now  art  thou  once  more 
With  the  great  that  have  gone  before,  - 
Lincoln,  anguish-eyed, 
Struck  down  mid  a  world's  acclaim, 
And  loyal  Farragut,  who  died 
Unscathed  by  bolt  or  flame. 
Last  of  the  mighty,  thou  ; 
And  the  nations  in  mourning  bow, 
With  the  foemen  of  long  ago, 
At  thy  first,  last  overthrow  ; 
While  the  land  thou  hast  left  secure 
Sits  widowed,  lone  and  poor. 
With  only  that  empty  pall 
In  place  of  Our  General, 
ist  August,  1885. 


C;A  IRA. 

HASTE  not,  halt  not;  it  will  go; 
Truth  cannot  be  hindered  so. 
Without  pain  was  never  birth. 
Drops  the  seed  in  April  earth, 
And  above  it,  fierce  and  white, 
Suns  of  summer  blasting  smite. 
Waves  the  brown  September  mead, 
Gleams  the  corn  where  fell  the  seed. 
They  alone,  'twas  ever  so, 
Overcome,  that  undergo. 


61 


Flinch  not,  faint  not;   time  will  tell; 
Heaven  keeps  its  reckoning  well. 
Into  childhood's  laughing  eyes 
Rush  the  tears  of  toil's  surprise. 
Striving  on  from  sun  to  sun, 
Nothing  ever  find  we  done, 
Toil  of  hand  and  toil  of  brain, 
Task  and  toil,  but  all  in  vain  ; 
Faileth  heart  and  fadeth  hope, 
As  the  shadows  eastward  slope. 
Last  the  uproar  dies  away  ; 
Then  like  music  :    "  Only  they 
(God  in  wisdom  willed  it  so), 
Overcome,  that  undergo  I  " 


THE  EARTH-SCHOOL. 

GOD  giveth  seasons,  change  of  moon, 
Gloaming  and  midnight,  dawn  and  noon. 
With  ruddy  youth  and  rheumy  eld. 
And  joy  by  sorrow  still  dispelled, 
And  love  and  all  that  love  can  bring, 
And  hate,  with  all  its  following, 
And  death's  curst  robberies, — lest  we, 
Secure  in  immortality, 
Should  slight  those  lessons,  which  alone 
Make  immortality  our  own. 


62 


SELF-DECEPTION. 

O  LOVER,  it  is  not  she  thou  lovest, 

The  maiden  that  hears  thee  with  scared  surprise, 
Not  she,  but  thine  ideal  of  woman, 

Whereon  thou  never  hast  laid  thine  eyes. 

And  more,  O  lover,  I'll  tell  thee  a  secret, 
Which  tortures  could  not  make  thee  confess, 

That  even  now,  in  the  midst  of  thy  pleading, 
Thou  'dst  rather  she'd  sav  thee  no  than  yes. 


DAVID  BARKER. 

THE  babbling  brooks  repeat  his  name, 

The  weird  pines  whisper  of  his  fame, 

His  spirit  broods  o'er  the  sweet  lake's  rest, 

His  grander  presence  lifts  the  mountain's  crest, 

While  the  round  heavens  that  meet  the  bluer  hills 

Guard  lovingly  the  land  his  memory  fills. 

Katahdin  Iron  Works,  nth  August,  1884. 


THE  DIFFERENCE. 

TO    M.   L.   \V. 

How  pleasant  in  the  crowd  to  meet 
A  face  so  fair,  a  look  so  sweet, 
A  form  so  fine,  where  every  grace 
Has  fixed  its  lightsome  dwelling  place  ! 


63 


"  Yes,  and  how  much  she  looks  like  May  !  " 
Alas  !  with  gold  compare  not  clay. 
In  yonder  maiden  now  I  see 
Not  beautv  but  deformity. 


MATERIALISM. 

TKLL  me,  was  not  this  the  guilt 

Of  those  that  Babel's  column  built? 

They  sought  by  outward  height  to  rise 
To  the  heaven  that  in  man  lies; 

So  in  wrath  God  changed  their  speech, 
Each  builder  babbling  unto  each, 

Vainly  as  those  that  strive  to-day 
To  reach  the  soul  o'er  steps  of  clay. 


LEFT  BEHIND. 

(  The  poet  speaks.} 

i  SIT  upon  the  rooted  wharf, 
And  watch  the  ships  away. 

Some  go  in  shine,  and  some  in  shower, 
And  all  to  leave  the  bay  ; 

But,  shower  or  shine,  no  ship  is  mine, 
Look  wheresoe'er  I  may. 


Some  are  but  skiffs  that  hug  the  strand. 
Some  larger,  coast-wise  bound, 

While  some  are  mighty  ships  that  go, 
To  sail  the  great  world  round. 

Some  carry  peace,  with  earth's  increase. 
And  some  war's  thunder  sound. 

Upon  their  lessening  decks  I  see 
My  boyhood's  fellows  stand. 

But  yesterday  I  spake  with  them 
Of  many  a  far-off  land, 

And  of  the  sea.  and  how,  ah  me  ! 

Our  keels  should  spurn  the  strand. 

Now  all  are  gone,  and  here  I  sit, 

Upon  the  lonely  shore, 
While  others,  younger,  pass  me  by, 

And  go  as  those  before, 
Till  all  unknown,  1  sit  alone. 

And  look  the  waters  o'er. 

Sometimes  the  landward  breezes  bring 

Brave  tidings  from  afar, 
Of  battles  won,  and  victories 

Not  less  than  those  of  war, 
Of  golden  sands  in  shining  lands, 

That  far  to  southward  are. 

Sometimes  the  sea-fared  ships  come  back, 

Laden  with  outland  spoil, 
With  gold  and  silk,  with  furs  for  which 

The  buskined  hunters  toil, 
Coral  and  shells  from  Indian  dells, 

And  sandal,  wine  and  oil. 


Then  too  sometimes  drift  landward  slo\v, 
Sea-bleached  with  living  mail, 

A  splintered  plank,  a  broken  spar, 
That  tell  a  sadder  tale 

Of  those  that  sleep  beneath  the  deep, 
Unheeding  wave  or  gale. 

And  then  I  think  and  ask  myself 

If  it  were  not  more  sweet, 
To  lie  as  these  do,  in  their  cold 

And  watery  winding-sheet. 
Than  not  to  know  how  storm-winds  blow 

And  how  the  great  waves  beat. 

But  still  I  trust  that  God.  who  gave 

The  broad  sea  unto  man. 
Knows  what  is  best,  and  wills  that  1 

Should  serve  Him  all  I  can  : 
So,  haply,  He  but  orders  me 

To  hinder  not  His  plan. 


()  faint-heart,  thus  to  sit  and  sigh. 
For  what  no  sighing  brings  ! 

What  boots  it  that  thou  art  not  sent 
On  seaward  wanderings? 

Hath  not  the  air  bright  paths  to  fare, 
And  thou,  hast  thou  not  wings? 


SOUL  AND  BODY. 

ENOUGH  to  keep  soul  and  body  together  ; 
Enough  to  keep  them  apart,  say  rather. 


66 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS. 

THEY  fable  how,  what  time  the  star 

Led  on  to  Bethlehem  from  afar, 

That  by  the  islands  of  the  west, 

A  sailor,  seeking  port  and  rest, 

With  homesick  prow  unwillingly 

Frothing  the  wine  of  the  cloud-lit  sea, 

Heard  through  the  dusk  a  voice  that  said, 

Loud  from  the  shore  :      "  Great  Pan  is  dead." 

The  frightened  sailor  told  his  tale  ; 

Some  stopped  to  listen,  some  turned  to  rail. 

Speaker  and  speech  have  passed  away, 

But  who  believes  in  Pan  to-day? 

I  trod  the  black-walled  city  through. 

Wherein  no  man  his  brother  knew, 

But  every  one  went  hurrying  by, 

Seeking  his  own  with  foot  and  eye. 

The  ground  was  frozen,  dry  and  bare, 

A  hint  of  snow  was  in  the  air  ; 

When,  suddenly,  the  city's  roar, 

That  rang  from  railway  and  street  and  store, 

Till  it  rose  with  the  streaming  smoke  on  high, 

And  smote  against  the  shutting  sky, 

Came  echoed  back  from  overhead 

In  words  that  thundered  :      "  God  is  dead  !  " 

I  wonder  I  did  not  shriek  with  fear, 
But  no  man  seemed  to  heed  or  hear, 
So  with  a  shudder  I  hurried  on, 
And  what  I  had  heard  I  told  to  none. 
For  is  it  not  better  that  men  should  live, 
naught  for  the  naught  they  give, 


67 


Believing  in  beauty  and  truth  and  love, 

Than  to  know  there  is  nothing  below  or  above? 

For  how  is  falsehood  worse  than  truth, 

Or  love  than  hate,  or  wreak  than  ruth, 

And  where  shall  beauty  now  abide, 

When  (Joel,  who  made  man's  heart,  has  died? 

Religion  is  a  pleasing  cheat, 

Then  let  us  hug  the  lair  deceit. 

God  is  dead  ;  the  heavens  are  brass, 

And  life  is  brittle  as  last  year's  grass. 

Still  in  the  sky  the  stars  run  on, 

But  only  as  wheels  when  the  power  is  gone, 

Or  as  wisdom  dwells  in  an  old  man's  brain, 

When  his  manhood's  thoughts  rise  up  again. 

They  tell  us  man  was  made  for  truth  ; 

But  truth  or  falsehood,  now,  forsooth, 

We'll  take  whichever  suits  us  best, 

Since  each  man's  God  is  in  each  man's  breast. 

So  much  of  godhead  liveth  still, 

That  good  is  the  good  and  the  ill  is  ill  ; 

But  so  much  only  ;  wrong  and  right 

With  (iod  are  buried  and  out  of  sight, 

And  the  ugly  ought  is  put  to  sleep  ; 

Pleasure's  commandments  alone  we'll  keep. 

But  if  this  be  and  go  untold, 

While  saints  bear  crosses  for  crowns  of  gold. 

1  ought  to  tell  them  they  trust  a  lie, 

That  they  may  be  merry  before  they  die. 

1  ought, — ah  me,  the  word  I  said  ! 

The  God  of  Sinai  is  then  not  dead  ; 


68 


It  must  have  been  the  Christ  that  died, 
And  I  think  I  know  what  pierced  his  side. 
These  were  the  weapons  that  laid  him  low  : 
The  hand  of  his  friend  and  the  heart  of  his  foe. 

Sin  ! — He  thought  to  bear  alone 

The  burden  that  made  the  whole  world  groan. 

He  has  lifted  and  shouldered  the  mighty  load, 

But  can  he  bear  it  the  lone,  long  road  ? 

Neglect  from  his  own  ;  ah,  that  was  the  thing 

That  broke  that  heart  of  suffering  ! 

And  all  mankind  must  forever  die, 

Because  of  the  church's  perfidy. 

Worse  off  are  we  than  the  men  of  yore, 

With  God  above  and  no  Christ  before. 

So  railed  I,  bitter  in  heart  and  word, 
As  if  it  were  truth  that  I  had  heard, 
Nor  ever  guessed  that  the  voice  had  been 
Only  an  echo  of  human  sin. 
Hut  straightway  a  whisper  low  replied  : 
'•  The  risen  Christ  no  more  hath  died  ; 
And,  though  he  be  wounded  again  and  again, 
Christ  beareth  the  burden  of  sin  amain." 
I  looked,  and  saw,  in  the  drifting  dust. 
Two  starving  children  snatch  at  a  crust. 
And  the  stronger  yield  it  with  fleshless  hand. 
Then  straightway  sink  on  the  freezing  sand. 
A  blush  of  shame  spread  over  my  brow. 
As  the  still  small  voice  made  answer  now  : 
"  Wherever  self-hating  love  shall  abide, 
Stands  in  her  beauty  the  Church,  the  Bride." 


69 


I  turned,  and  lo  !  the  children  were  gone. 

Was  it  a  vision  I  looked  upon  ? 

I  never  knew,  but  this  I  ken, 

That  Christ  the  Helper  walked  with  me  then. 


A  SUMMER  NIGHT  IN  WINTER. 

LULLED  is  every  breath  of  breeze, 
Low  hath  sunk  the  evening  star, 

Down  behind  the  western  trees. 
Dim  the  other  planets  are  ; 

High  and  proudly  rides  the  Moon, 
Noon  renewing  with  her  light, 

In  her  train  I  read  the  rune, 
That  the  sister  Pleiads  write. 

All  around,  the  voiceful  pines 
Hush  their  whispers  and  adore. 

Low  the  distant  sea  reclines, 
And  its  deeps  forget  their  roar. 

But  for  missing  its  perfume, 

I  could  think  the  hour  were  May  ; 

Never  spring,  with  all  its  bloom. 
Did  a  fairer  night  display. 

Would  our  lives  were  ordered  so, 
Spring  at  heart  throughout  the  year, 

Winter-lit  with  summer's  glow, 
Till  the  newer  spring  appear  ! 


70 
THE  NORNS. 

A  VISION  of  the  northern  sisters  weird, 

Whom,  in  the  days  of  eld,  our  fathers  worshipped, 

Verdande,  Urd  and  Skuld,  the  Present,  Past 

And  Future;  for  methought  I  heard  them  sing, 

Standing  upon  a  windy  hill-top  hoar 

Of  bygone  years  :   mayhap  upon  that  day, 

When  Olaf,  bringer  of  the  gospel,  died 

In  sea-fight  with  the  worshippers  of  Thor, 

Or  most  believed  he  died  ;  so,  hand  in  hand. 

Their  golden  locks  broad-blowing  over  brows 

That  mocked  the  morning,  sang  the  maiden  Fates. 

Born  while  time  was  not, 

Always  and  ever  the  same, 
Daughters  of  that  high  God, 

Whom  gods  nor  men  may  name, 
The  God  who  sitteth  aloft, 

Fearless  of  storm  and  shock, 
By  whom  are  given,  Earth,  Hell  and  Heaven, 

Unto  us  till  the  Ragnarok. 
The  lives  of  gods  and  men, 

And  laughter  and  toil  and  tears, 
The  shadowy  yearnings  of  youth 

And  the  darkness  that  comes  with  years, 
The  skill  of  the  hand  that  shapes, 

The  craft  of  the  mind  that  plans, 
The  might  of  love  that  blesses 

The  strength  of  hate  that  bans, 
The  wrath  of  men  that  strive, 

And  blood,  and  the  madness  of  fight, 


71 


The  hiss  of  the  sword  that  cleaves, 

The  scream  of  arrows  that  smite, — 

All  this,  to  make  or  mangle, 
Doth  God  upon  us  bestow, 

The  while  we  twine  for  the  kingdoms  nine. 
The  threads  of  mirth  and  woe. 

The  younger  two  here  paused  ;  the  Past  went  on 

The  things  that  were  and  are  not, 

And  never  more  shall  be, 
Are  not  and  shall  be  never, 

By  will  and  word  of  me. 
Under  the  tree  Ygdrasil, 

The  god-upholding  ash, 
Beneath  the  root  that  leads  to  heaven, 

My  well-spring's  waters  flash  ; 
And,  from  those  leaping  waters, 

My  sisters,  every  day, 
With  me  anew  its  leaves  bedew, 

That  it  may  bloom  for  aye  ; 
And  hither,  on  the  rainbow, 

The  ten  gods,  riding,  come, 
And  hither  Thor,  through  the  rivers  four, 

Wades  to  the  mote  of  doom  : 
But  hither  comes  not  Balder. 

He  must  in  Helhome  bide, 
Till  heaven  and  earth,  from  the  new  birth. 

Awaken  purified. 
So  never  cometh  Balder, 

And  never  comes  again 
The  good  that  was  aforetime, 

To  gods  or  vans  or  men  ; 


72 

But  neither  shall  be  ever 

The  evil  once  gone  by, 
For  so  I  will,  and  warder 

Of  all  the  past  am  I. 
Mine  are  the  deeds  of  all  men, 

And  all,  men  think  or  say, 
I  hold  it  unforgotten, 

Until  the  dooming  day. 
I  stand  by  every  cradle, 

With  fear  and  longing  rife, 
What  time  I  lay  in  gold  or  gray, 

The  warp  for  the  web  of  life. 

No  sooner  ceased  the  Past  than,  looking  up, 
With  eyes  of  noonday  blue,  the  Present  sang 

Mine  is  the  time  that  is, 

The  high-tide  of  to-day, 
The  fleeting  now  that  hastens, 

And  yet  abides  for  aye. 
I  stand  by  every  birth-bed, 

And  lay  the  twisted  woof 
That  binds  the  web  of  being 

For  bale  or  for  behoof. 
I  stood  by  the  great  Father, 

When,  out  of  the  unseen, 
He  shaped  the  fire-and  mist-worlds, 

And  the  Yawning-gap  between. 
I  saw  the  spring  Hvergelmer 

In  the  midst  of  Niflhome, 
And  the  twelve  streams,  Elivagar, 

That  ice-cold  flowed  therefrom  ; 


73 


I  saw  the  giant  Ymer 

Shaped  from  the  drifted  steam  ; 
I  saw  the  cow  Audhumbla 

That  fed  along  the  stream. 
The  sons  of  Bor  beheld  I, 

The  sons  that  Bestla  nursed, 
Vile  and  Ve  and  Odin, 

Odin  of  gods  the  first ; 
I  saw  the  giant  Ymer 

Slain  by  the  children  three, 
I  saw  Bergelmer's  household 

Float  on  the  bloody  sea, 
And  then  the  new  earth  shapen 

From  Ymer's  flesh  and  bone, 
And  over  it  the  giant's  skull, 

To  form  the  heaven  thrown  ; 
1  saw  the  sparks  from  Muspelhome, 

Each,  rising,  form  a  star; 
I  saw  the  shining  Sun-maid 

Drawn  in  her  shielded  car ; 
And  when  Earth  bred  the  dwarf-kind, 

It  passed  within  my  ken, 
And  when  the  high  gods  gave  them 

The  shape  and  mind  of  men. 
But  still  mankind  1  saw  not, 

Until  the  sons  of  Bor, 
Finding  the  twain  trees  lifeless, 

That  stood  upon  the  shore, 
Made  from  them  Ask  and  Embla, 

The  eldest  human-  pair, 
And  gave  them  life  and  motion. 

And  mind  and  features  fair. 


74 


And  so  all  things  that  have  been 

I  saw,  and  so  I  see 
All  things  that  are,  and  shall  see 

All  things  that  are  to  be. 
Hereat  the  Future  took  the  mystic  song, 
And,  looking  far  away,  far-speaking,  sang  : 

The  past  is  forever  no  more, 

And  what  is  the  present  but  past? 
The  future  abideth  for  aye, 

The  youngest,  the  newest,  the  last. 
My  sisters  may  mete  out  and  spin 

Their  web  at  the  birth-tides  of  men. 
That  weird-cloth  my  fingers  shall  rend. 

As  ever,  forever  again. 
For  I  order  all  that  shall  be, 

From  Nidhug  to  Gimle  the  bright : 
The  secrets  of  storm-cloud  and  tears, 

The  secrets  of  laughter  and  light. 
The  secrets  of  dying  and  birth, 

The  secrets  of  all  things  to  come. 
And,  latest  and  greatest  of  all, 

The  Ragnarok's  god-quelling  gloom. 
For  earth  shall  wax  older  and  worse, 

And  a  lie  shall  be  sweeter  than  truth, 
And  there  shall  be  strife,  and  the  spilling  of  life. 

And  dead  shall  be  mildness  and 
So  onward,  till  come  three  winters, 

When  the  sun  shall  yield  no  mirth. 
And  sleet  and  snow  shall  fall 

From  the  corners  of  the  earth  ; 


75 


Three  winters  without  a  summer, 

And  then  come  other  three, 
When  war  and  wrath  shall  redden 

The  earth  from  sea  to  sea. 
Then  shall  the  Fenris-wolf 

Break  loose  and  swallow  the  sun, 
The  moon  shall  Moongarm  swallow, 

The  stars  shall  shatter  down. 
The  Midgard-circling  serpent 

Shall  writhe  and  reach  the  land, 
And  by  his  side  the  Fenrer 

Shall  take  his  fiery  stand  ; 
And  hither  Hrym  the  foe-fiend 

Shall  on  the  Nail-ship  steer, 
The  ship  that  now  is  building, 

Through  every  thoughtless  year. 
Then  shall  the  sky  be  cloven, 

And,  down  the  shining  way, 
The  glittering  sons  of  Muspel 

Shall  ride  in  long  array. 
The  rainbow,  no  more  needed, 

Shall  break  beneath  their  feet, 
As  into  Vigrid's  field  they  wend, 

The  Asgard  ranks  to  meet. 
Meanwhile  ariseth  Heimdal, 

And  winds  the  Gjallar  horn, 
Which  bids  the  blithe  gods  hie  them 

Into  the  fight  forlorn. 
At  the  wild  blast  Ygdrasil 

Shivers  in  root  and  trunk;, 
Then  feels  the  fount  of  Mimer 

Its  waters  strangely  sunk  ; 


76 


While  all  the  Valhal  heroes, 

With  gladsome  hearts  and  high, 
Speed  onward  fast,  to  the  trumpet  blast, 

Where  Odin  leads  to  die. 
Then  against  fell  Fenrer 

Shall  Odin  lift  the  spear  ; 
Then,  at  the  foul  serpent, 

Shall  Thor  his  Mjolner  rear  : 
Then  Surt,  the  Muspel -warder, 

Shall  spill  the  heart  of  Frey, 
Who  bitterly  shall  rue  him 

The  blade  he  gave  away. 
Meanwhile  the  Midgard-serpent 

Lies  dead  upon  the  ground, 
Beside  him  Thor,  his  victor, 

Lieth  in  venom  drowned. 
The  wolf  hath  swallowed  Odin, 

But  Vidar,  fearing  naught, 
Lifting  the  welded  shoe, 

Throughout  the  ages  wrought, 
Shall  tread  the  fiend-wolf's  jaw, 

And,  straining  hand  and  head, 
Shall  tear  and  rend  until  he  lay 

His  father's  conqueror  dead. 
Then  Loke  slayeth  Heimdal, 

And  slam  himself  shall  fall, 
Then  Surt,  the  Frey-destroyer, 

Warder  of  Muspelhal, 
Shall  rise,  and  through  the  wan  earth 

Far  scatter  fire  and  low, 
Till  the  great  tree  Ygdrasil 

Shall  vanish  in  the  glow ; 


77 


Till,  crashing  to  its  embers, 

Shall  fall  that  earth-old  tree, 
And  all  the  world,  in  smoke-wreaths  whirled, 

Shall  sink  beneath  the  sea. 
But,  though  o'er  the  nine  kingdoms, 

That  starless  dusk  shall  set, 
And  earth  and  sky  be  vanished, 

The  end  shall  not  be  yet. 
For  lo  !  as  in  the  Northland, 

The  lingering  summer  sun 
Drops  in  the  sea  at  midnight, 

And,  sunken,  mounts  anon, 
While  all  the  gathering  darkness 

Gives  way  to  morning's  light, 
So,  from  the  gloom,  a  new  earth 

Upspringeth  fresh  and  bright. 
For  now  the  great  Allfather 

Hath  judged  the  things  of  yore, 
And  all  the  good  comes  back  again 

To  last  forevermore. 
So,  on  the  new  earth's  meadows, 

Vidar  and  Vale  stand  ; 
Before  them  goeth  Magne, 

The  Mjolner  in  his  hand  ; 
Beside  him  walketh  Mode, 

And,  lo  !  apart  from  all, 
In  silence  Keener  sitteth, 

Watching  what  may  befal ; 
And  see,  by  Hoder  standing, 

The  Balder  of  the  past, 
For,  drowned  in  ocean,  all  things 

Have  wept  for  him  at  last. 


78 


The  fair  Sun's  fairer  daughter 

Rides  through  the  gladdened  sky, 

And  lights  a  race  of  sinless  men 
That  neither  weep  nor  die. 

So  sang  the  Future ;  and  her  elders  twain, 
With  lifted  hands,  joined  with  her  in  a  cry 
That  thrilled  me  long  after  their  words  had  ceased 

Man  is  a  breath  in  the  cold, 

A  shadow  that  wrinkles  the  ground. 
He  Cometh  and  goeth,  and  lo  ! 

His  footsteps  can  nowhere  be  found. 
He  climbeth  the  walls  of  the  sky, 

But  he  cannot  arise  from  the  sod  ; 
He  toileth ;  the  toil  is  his  own, 

The  end  of  his  work  is  with  God  ! 


LAPLAND  DRIVING-SONG. 

SPRING,  my  reindeer  fleet, 
On  with  bounding  feet ! 

Over  ice  and  snow, 

Swift,  my  swift  one  go  ! 
What  care  we  for  cold — 

Cold  or  driving  storm  ? 

Though  the  house  be  warm, 
Snug  the  mossy  fold, 
Naught  but  star  and  snow-hung  tree 
Shall  our  light  and  shelter  be. 


79 

In  the  winter  night, 

While  moons  wax  and  wane, 

Rise  and  sink  again, 
And  no  sun  gives  light ; 

While  the  flaming  north 

Flaunts  its  banners  forth, 
Then  we  hunt  the  seal, 
Armed  with  rope  and  steel, 
Scouring  floe  and  frozen  fiord, 
For  the  hunter's  prized  reward. 

Now,  my  reindeer  swift, 
Speed  above  the  drift, 
Skim  the  river-bed, 
While  right  overhead, 
Hangs  the  northern  star, 
With  the  sleepless  Bear 
Circling  in  the  air, 
Watching  it  afar. 
Snow  beneath  and  stars  above, 
Winter  is  the  time  we  love  ! 


THE  SMALL  TO  THE  GREAT. 

NAY,  scorn  us  not,  ye  poets  throned  for  aye, 
Us  painful  singers  of  a  fleeting  day. 
We  have  our  worth  :   we  din  the  world's  dull  ear 
With  song  until  men  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
Yet,  forced  to  listen,  heed  they  you,  not  us. 
And  so  our  low  fame  lifts  your  glorious. 


80 


CAMDEN  HILLS. 

OH  !   Camden  Hills  are  fair  to  sea, 

Over  the  misty  bay, 

When  the  breakers  lighten  under  the  lee, 
And  the  waves  like  liquid  iron  be, 
Whereon  the  raindrops  fitfully 

Whiten  and  sink  away. 

And  Camden  Hills  are  grand  to  view 

Under  the  morning's  eye, 
When  the  feathery  clouds  are  high  and  few, 
And  the  hills  have  caught  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
And  the  waves  are  bright  with  the  selfsame  hue 

Of  the  mountains  and  the  sky. 

But,  oh  !  most  lovely  to  behold 

Are  Camden  Hills,  to  me, 
When  the  sunset  mantles  the  west  with  gold, 
And  the  pearly  vapors  manifold 
Are  slowly  up  to  the  mountains  rolled, 

Over  the  rainbow  sea. 


HEREDITY. 

WE  chose  not  what  we  are,  nor  can  unmake 

More  than   we  could   have  made.     How   strange   it 

seems  ! 

One,  bowed  to  earth,  sees  but  the  sticks,  the  rake, 
And  one,  in  Beulah  dwelling,  sings  in  dreams. 


81 

THE  FROZEN  WATERFALL. 

HEADLONG  over  the  headland's  brow, 

When  skies  were  soft  and  winds  blew  west. 
Thy  diving  waters  dashed,  which  now 
Rest. 

For  a  wind  came  out  of  the  wintry  north, 

And  the  roar  of  waters  that  shook  the  hill, 
Suddenly  stricken,  grew  thenceforth 
Still. 

The  pillar  of  white,  which  the  light  wind  swayed, 

Bends  not  now  in  any  blast  ; 
For  its  waters  hang,  in  mid-leap  stayed 

Fast. 

Marble  torrent  !   a  rest  how  deep  ! 

Yet  rest,  not  death,  is  thine,  for  anon 
Thy  loosened  waters  shall  dash  with  a  leap 
On. 


EDWIN  BOOTH. 

LET  Shakespeare  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature, 
Show  scorn  her  image,  virtue  her  own  feature; 
'Tis  not  enough  without  thy  glorious  part 
To  hold  the  mirror  up  to  Shakespeare's  art. 


EBEEME. 

BRIGHT  is  the  broad  Ebeeme  as  in  the  days  gone  by  ; 

So  little  Nature  sorrows  when  those  that  love  her  die. 

The  vast  pine's  benediction  still  greets  the  wakening 
year, 

Still  from  the  snow-bank's  edges  the  pink-white  May- 
blooms  peer, 

With  bowstring-twang  the  wild-fowl  bend  here  their 
arrow-flight, 

What  time  the  full-moon  lingers  below  the  floor  of 
night, 

And  long  before  the  swart  snow  has  left  the  shadiest 
glen, 

The  winter-starven  partridge  drums  merrily  again. 

There  is  no  southern  hillside  but  coins  itself  in  gold. 
And  every  violet's  fingers  their  fill  of  heaven  hold  ; 
Here,  as  in  Junes  aforetime,  the  shy,  red  strawberries, 

strawn, 

Blush  to  the  water's  redness  that  eyes  the  early  dawn; 
And  when  the  flowers  of  springtime  have  breathed 

their  light  away, 
And  August's  blackened  clover  no  more  perfumes  the 

day, 

Still  flash  the  scarlet  cardinals  along  Ebeeme's  shore, 
Like  elfin  bale-fires  mourning  the  blooms  that  are  no 

more. 

Upon  its  heaving  shallows  the  anchored  lilies  nod, 
Greeting  the  purple  asters  and  plumy  golden-rod  ; 

Hushed  are  the  summer's  voices,  its  uproar  and  its 
song, 


83 


All  but  the  picket  challenge  the  shy  crows  pass  along. 
With  bowstring-twang  the  wild-fowl  wing  hence  their 

arrow-flight, 
What  time  the  full-moon   lingers  above  the  floor  of 

night, 
While,   last  of  summer's  tokens,   new-born  to  feebler 

glow, 
Like  love  in  old  age  quickened,   the  dandelions  blow. 

Oh  !  lovely  is  the  springtime,  with  fragrance  of  new 

'  life, 

And  lovely  is  the  summer,  with  song  and  hue  at  strife. 
But  blessings  smile  at  parting,   the  year  is  then  most 

fair, 
When  its  low  summons  calls  it,   far  whispering  down 

the  air. 
'Tis  then  on    all  Ebeeme  comes    down  a    wondrous 

light. 
Faint  golden  mists  by  daytime,   the  golden   moon  by 

night  ; 

Then  all  Ebeeme's  waters,   on  every  wooded  strand, 
Are  drenched    with    light    no  sunset    stole  yet  from 

Elfin-Land. 
For  now  is  Heaven  nearer  ;  through  all  the  woodland 

round. 
No  bush  but    hath   its  angel,    and    burneth    without 

sound  ; 

No  sound  there  is,  yet  voices  are  haunting  all  the  air. 
And  some  have  said,   who  listened,   that  God  spake 

with  them  there. 


84 


And  ah  !  of  one  I    mind  me,   to    whom  indeed  there 

spake 
An  aery  voice  that  called    him  from  mountain  and 

from  lake. 
Since  then    two   years   have  vanished,    and  still  the 

seasons  keep 
Their  round  of  life  and  slumber,  and  birth  and  life 

and  sleep. 
But  vainly  drear  November  may  dye  the  mountains 

blue, 
And  stain  the  waves  with  color  no  June  skies  ever 

knew, 
Something  there  was  that  is  not,   on  mountain,   wave 

and  shore, 
Since  one,  who  knew  and  loved  them,  is  met  by  them 

no  more. 


PRINCE  HENRY  TO  ELSIE. 

(Golden  Legend,  2;  912-917.) 

ME  life  holds  in  such  grip 

That  death  is  doubly  death.     I  should  go  forth, 
As  the  doomed  culprit,  yellow  from  his  dungeon, 
Is  dragged  forth  blinded  to  the  glare  of  noon, 
Clutching  and  cursing.      But  to  thee  this  life 
Is  but  a  filmy  cloud  that  veils  the  sun, 
From  one  that  wanders  over  singing  fields, 
And  death  the  wind  that  lifts  it. 


85 

EBEEME  BOATING  SONG. 

A I  R —  Trancadillo. 

THERE  are  full  many  lakes, 

Many  ponds,  too,  there  be, 
But  no  one  that  takes 

Such  a  hold  upon  me, 

As  the  sweet  lake,  the  fair  lake,  the  pleasant  Ebeeme. 
With  the  light  on  the  lilies,  delicious  and  dreamy. 

Here  the  wind  in  the  pine, 
And  the  wave  on  the  strand, 

As  they  meet  and  combine, 

Make  a  melody  grand,  O'er,  etc. 

Oh  !  sweet  is  the  sound 

From  the  high  mountain  side, 

Whence  our  voices  resound, 

By  the  cliffs  multiplied,  O'er,  etc. 

'Neath  the  light  of  the  moon 

The  canoe  glides  along, 
While  the  call  of  the  loon 

Wakes  anew  at  our  song,  On,  etc. 

Then  Ebeeme,  all  hail  ! 

In  thy  holiday  dress  ; 
May  thy  founts  never  fail, 

Nor  thy  beauty  be  less.      Oh  !  etc. 

Camp  Crosby,  West  Pond,  August,  1879. 


86 

THE  POET'S  TREASURE. 

THE  sky  is  a  mine  of  gold  to-night, 
And  none  of  its  wealth  is  hid,  I  ween ; 

For,  stuffed  with  curdled  nuggets  bright, 

Is  the  whole  broad  stretch  of  the  heaven  seen. 

And  men  look  heedless  up,  and  say, 

"  The  clouds  are  yellow  and  fair  to  see." 

But  the  poet  hears  them  not,  for  away, 
Amid  that  shining  drift  is  he. 

His  hand  bears  neither  mattock  nor  spade, 

Nor  a  bag  to  put  his  gettings  in. 
From  the  spangled  sky  the  bright  clouds  fade, 

And  the  meadow  mists  rise  gray  and  thin. 

But  the  poet  hath  gotten  him  from  the  sky 
Treasures  that  neither  fade  nor  pall, 

Which  the  gold  of  the  rich  man  cannot  buy  ; 
For  Heaven  gives  freely  or  not  at  all. 


UNTHRIFT. 

I'VE  a  way, 
To  my  sorrow. 
To  borrow 
From  to-morrow, 
To  pay 
To-day. 


87 

TO  THE  MAY-FLOWER. 

O  DAINTY  May-flower,  sheen, 
Dear  pledge  of  summer's  green, 

How  lovely  art  thou  still, 

Torn  from  thy  sun-bathed  hill 
Serene  ! 

Thou  hast  a  loveliness, 
That  ill  can  make  no  less, 

And  good  can  but  enhance  ; 
Not  born  of  circumstance, 
Or  dress. 

And  sweet  is  thy  perfume, 

Stealing  throughout  my  room, 

As  when  beneath  the  sky, 
It  made  the  bluff  bee  spy 
Thy  bloom. 

Alas  !   for  flower  or  face, 

That  lacks  the  crowning  grace, 
The  soul-seal  of  perfume  ; 

For  nothing  can  assume 
Its  place  ! 

Sweet  flower,  thy  pink  and  white 
Will  soon  be  faded  quite  ; 

But  not  with  shape  and  hue 
Thy  beauty  dieth  too, 
In  blight. 


88 

Thy  breath  and  bloom  shall  be 

Part  of  my  life  to  me, 
And  all  the  flowering  year 

Henceforth  is  made  more  dear, 
For  thee. 

Thy  beauty  hath  been  wrought 
Through  being  into  thought ; 

So,  through  all  earthly  death. 
Is  beauty's  vital  breath 
Safe  brought. 


LAND-LONGING. 

OH  !   when  I  was  a  little  boy  I  loved  the  country  so  : 

But  now  I've  grown  a  big  boy  I  may  not  thither  go, 

But  I  must  bide  within  the  town,  and  toil  and  moil 
and  strive, 

For  just  enough  of  misery  to  keep  myself  alive. 

But  when  I  get  an  old  boy,  maybe  they'll  send  me 
back, 

Away  from  tears  and  toil  and  sin,  from  hearts  and  hea 
vens  black, 

And  lay  me  down  among  the  flowers,  where  long  ago 
Hay, 

Beside  tfie  shining  waters, — as  free  from  toil  as  they. 


89 


IN  BOSTON  COMMON. 

OUT  of  the  howling  wilderness 

Of  the  crowded  city  street, 
Where  hearts  wax  hard  in  the  shock  and  stress 

Of  weary,  struggling  feet, 

I  wander,  sick  with  a  hundred  cares, 

Into  this  field  of  green, 
Till  over  its  acres  the  Healer  fares, 

And  blesses  me,  unseen. 

The  rest-day's  holy  stillness  dwells 
Herein  throughout  the  week  ; 

Though  loud  the  stricken  pavement  yells, 
And  startled  engines  shriek, 

Yet,  at  the  most,  a  drowsy  drone 

Is  all  that  enters  here, 
A  low,  monotonous  undertone, 

Which  heals  the  wounded  ear. 

Rest,  rest,  long  rest  and  sweet  rejease  ! 

These  murmuring  lanes  of  green 
Tell  of  the  hundred  years  of  peace, 

Not  merely  the  fifteen. 
Nov.,  1880. 


AN  ARROW  SHOT. 

THE  stiff  string  spun,  the  lithe  wood  leaped  from  the 

silk  and  laughed. 
It  struck,  and  a  yelp  therewith  was  wrung  from  the 

whining  shaft. 


no 
•> 

THE  CROWS. 

WEST    ROXBURY,    MASS. 

OUT  of  the  north  from  the  Brookline  woods, 

The  Crows  come  flying  at  set  of  sun, 
Benighting  the  red  of  aerial  roods, 

In  tens,  in  hundreds,  or  one  by  one. 

The  windless  chill  of  a  winter  eve 

Is  crisping  the  dampness  on  walk  and  way, 

But  high  in  the  lift  those  black  wings  give 
A  ruddy  glitter  of  lingering  day. 

How  smooth  the  feathers  are  lapped  and  laid, 

In  the  strong,  broad  curve  of  those  steadfast  wings  ! 

Ha  !   there  is  a  gap  some  shot  has  made, — 
The  Crow's  reward  for  the  good  he  brings. 

And  still  as  the  ranks  above  me  thin, 
Slow  dropping  over  the  southern  trees, 

Out  of  the  north  new  flocks  begin, 

To  rise  and  redden  and  sink  like  these. 

In  kitchen  windows  the  lamplights  flare, 
The  milkman  hurries  his  nightly  round  : 

What  care  these  bold  buccaneers  of  the  air 
For  a  sluggish  life  on  the  stupid  ground  ? 

Now  all  have  passed,  and  the  stars  to-night, 
Though  little  the  Crows  heed  gloom  or  glare, 

Will  see  them  huddled  by  cape  or  bisht, 
Where  the  tide  has  left  the  long  flats  bare. 


91 


There  ocean  grants  them  a  feeding  ground, 

And  twice  a  day  a  feast  they  make 
On  the  clams  and  mussels  that  there  abound. 

And  haply  a  stranded  flounder  they  take. 

So  fares  the  Crow  in  the  winter-tide, 

While  field  and  pasture  lie  stiff  and  sere ; 

When  spring  comes  back,  and  the  brown  hillside 
Is  green  with  corn,  you  shall  see  him  here. 

Crows  are  no  robbers,  they  spoil  to  save, 
Yet  curse  for  blessing  they  find  at  the  farms, 

And  lucky  for  them  if  the  worst  they  brave 

Is  the  scarecrow's  broomstick  at  shoulder-arms. 

The  worm  that  gnaws  at  the  sprouting  seed, 
The  locust  ravening  field  and  wood, 

'Tis  of  these  alone  that  the  Crow  takes  heed, 
For  the  farmer's  foe  is  the  black  Crow's  food. 

So  the  Crow  bides  inland  while  summer  stays. 

And  waxes  fat,  that  is,  for  him ; 
Yet  little  he  cares  when  the  autumn  days 

Dole  slimmer  rations  and  still  more  slim. 

He  knows  that  the  sea  falls  twice  a  day, 
In  cloud  and  sunshine,  in  frost  and  rain, 

And  so,  with  a  laugh,  he  is  up  and  away, 
Through  the  winter  dusk  to  the  shore  again. 


92 
CHARLES  MILLER  COBURN. 

ONLY  a  few  short  months  are  fled, 
Since  to  my  absent  friend  I  said : 

"  Friend  that  sailest  now  the  sea, 

Best  of  wishes  follow  thee, 

And  shall  follow,  even  when 

Thou  hast  brought  them  back  again." 

Now  upon  a  deeper  sea, 

Thou  art  embarked  how  suddenly  ! 

A  sea  that  hath  no  landward  breeze, 

And  no  returning  messages, 

Nor  any  glimpse  of  other  shore, 

To  us,  who  strain  its  blackness  o'er. 

O  friend,  how  oft  in  days  to  be, 
Shall  men  look  back  and  sigh  for  thee, 
Missing,  in  hours  of  utmost  need, 
Thy  words  to  teach,  thy  steps  to  lead  ! 

But  where  thou  art  there  must  be  good, 
Though  here  not  seen  nor  understood  ; 
And  when  we  too  are  set  adrift, 
Toward  those  low  clouds  that  never  lift, 
And  faith  is  well  nigh  lost  in  fear, 
Then  will  we  cry  with  better  cheer ; 
"  Beyond  the  cloud,  come  sea,  come  shore, 
We  sail  to  meet  our  friend  once  more  !  " 


03 
ANNIVERSARY  HYMN. 

FOR    THE    BAPTIST    CHURCH    IN    FREEPORT,     MAINE. 

FULL  well  and  long  the  Father's  hand 

Hath  led  His  people  on, 
Through  storm  and  sun,  o'er  desert  sand, 

And  into  Canaan  won. 

But  looking  back  from  year  to  year, 

For  threescore  and  fourteen, 
We  see  Thee  in  the  desert  drear, 

As  in  the  fields  of  green  ; 

And  bless  Thee,  seeing  where  of  old 
Our  wayward  steps  have  striven. 

Not  less  for  what  Thou  didst  withhold. 
Than  what  Thy  grace  hath  given. 

A  little  band,  before  Thy  throne 

Our  fathers  knelt  to  pray  ; 
Make  us,  tenfold  in  numbers  grown, 

Tenfold  more  strong  than  they. 

Here,  from  this  height  of  years,  we  see 

An  untried  way  before; 
O  Father,  hold  us  near  to  Thee, 

As  in  the  days  of  yore  : 

And  ever,  if  from  Thee,  O  God, 

Our  sinful  footsteps  stray, 
In  love  spare  not  from  us  the  rod, 

Who  turn  from  love  away. 


Yet,  rather,  standing  in  this  place, 
Where  Thou  so  oft  hast  heard 

True  prayer  of  old,  we  pray  for  grace 
To  heed  Thy  mildest  word ; 

And  may  we  follow  ever  thus 

Through  all  the  future's  hours; 

As  with  our  fathers,  so  with  us, 
Our  father's  God  and  ours. 
28th  Sept.,  1881. 


EMERSON. 

A  STAR  fell,  methought. 

I  must  have  seen  it  rise ; 
For  lo  !  next  night, 
A  new  star's  light 

Lit  all  the  upper  skies. 


LONGFELLOW. 

WHILE  all  the  birds  are  fluttering  in  the  sun, 
Fluting  their  sorrow  for  the  singer  dead, 

What  wilt  thou  do,  thou  dull  and  songless  one, 

Who  yet  loved  much  as  they  that  lowly  head  ? 
"  Love  and  be  silent." 


95 


REFORM. 

HALT  !   hear  ye  not  the  cry, 

That  voice  not  loud  nor  high, 

But  a  mighty  undertone, 

From  the  four  winds  of  heaven  blown  ? 

Hark  !   ye  can  hear  it  now, 

The  sound  men  heard  of  yore, 

Making  the  tyrant  bow, 

And  crumbling  sceptre  and  throne. 

Hark  to  the  gathering  roar, 

And  flee  from  the  coming  storm. 

Reform,  reform,  reform  ! 

What !  an  ye  will  not  hear, 
Look  the  horizon  round, 
See  how  the  wroth  clouds  rear 
Their  blackness  from  the  ground. 
The  blue  sky  shrivels  in  dread, 
It  is  furled  as  a  sail  is  furled  ; 
There  are  fiery  bolts  to  be  sped, 
For  the  vengeance  waxeth  warm, 
For  justice  wakes  on  the  world, 
And  woe  to  the  guilty  head. 
Reform,  reform,  reform  ! 

Nay,  it  is  now  too  late  ! 
Ye  heed,  but  we  cannot  wait ; 
The  tempest  has  drawn  too  nigh  ; 
Its  threaded  lightnings  ply, 
And  a  fiery  shroud  they  weave. 
Fools,  ye  would  not  believe, 
Ye  doubted,  and  ye  must  die. 


Ye  vanish,  and  where  ye  stood 
The  hosts  of  the  upright  swarm, 
Their  battle-cry  made  good  : 
Reform,  reform,  reform  ! 
1 5th  Oct..  1882. 


LOST. 

THERE  are  three  things  that  most  I  hate ; 

The  breath  of  orchards  blossom-laden, 

The  calm  eyes  of  an  innocent  maiden, 

And  snow  ;  I  think  they  mock  my  fate. 

The  reason  you  must  guess  with  ease, 

But  first  that  apple-blossom,  please  : 

There  !   in  the  city's  trodden  slough, 

Will  any  one  call  it  fragrant  now? 

Into  the  street  I  too  was  flung, 

A  blossom  ; — oh  !     I  still  am  young, 

That  is,  if  you  reckon  life  by  years, 

And  not  by  harvests  of  blood  and  tears. 

Don't  start ;   I  know  my  face  is  a  fright, 

Though  I  haven't  seen  it  since  one  night, 

Long  gone,  when  my  mirror  told  such  a  tale, 

That  I  struck  the  glass :   would  life  were  as  frail 

The  snow,  with  its  beauty  white  and  cold, 

I  hate  as  much  as  I  loved  it  of  old. 

It  trips  so  daintily  down  from  the  sky, 

As  if  it  were  proud  of  its  purity. 

It  blackens  soon  ;  for  that  I  am  glad, 


97 


But  soiled  or  stainless  I  hate  it  as  bad. 

Do  you  wonder  that  I  cannot  brook 

The  peaceful  depths  of  a  maiden's  look, 

Beholding  sin  and  misery 

As  with  babies'  eyes  that  do  not  see  ? 

Babies  ! — ha,  ha  !  no  mother  am  I : 

Some  secrets  keep  ;  you'd  best  say  good  bye. 


CHRISTOPHER. 

RUFUS,  Rufus,  some  one  calleth  thee  ; — 
The  night  is  dark,  the  river  roareth  black, 
And  in  the  storm  the  great  trees  rive  and  crack  ;- 

"  Rufus,  come  carry  me  !  " 

Rufus,  there  calleth  thee  some  little  child  ; 
But  merrily  the  red  logs  blaze  within, 
Rest  cometh  sweet ;  it  surely  were  a  sin 

To  brave  a  night  so  wild. 

But  still  he  hears  the  knocking  and  the  cry  : 
A  giant  such  as  thou  has  naught  to  fear. 
"  Come,  child,  sit  squarely  on  my  shoulders  here, 

Fear  nothing,  it  is  I." 

So  spake  he  as  the  foaming  brink  he  sought, 
Scarce  knowing  if  indeed  he  bore  a  load  ; 
Then  knee-deep  down  into  the  flood  he  strode, 

Which  smote,  but  stirred  him  not. 


98 


Soon  strangely  heavy  gan  to  grow  his  load, 
The  little  child  weighed  on  his  neck  like  lead  ; 
The  stream  rose  higher  o'er  its  slippery  bed, 

Yet  onward  still  he  strode. 

But  when  the  middle  of  the  stream  was  won, 
His  little  burden  weighed  like  mountains  piled, 
His  shoulders  bent  beneath  the  clinging  child, 

He  scarce  could  stagger  on. 

Then,  slipping,  straightway  he  began  to  sink. 
"Help  me!"  he  cried;  the  child  stretched  out  a 

hand, 
And  in  a  moment  they  were  safe  at  land 

Upon  the  farther  brink. 

"  Who  art  thou?  "  gasped  the  giant,  sore  surprised. 
"  I  am  the  Christ-Child,  and  thou  art  no  more 
Rufus,  but  shalt  be  Christopher,  who  bore 

The  sad  benighted  Christ." 

Christ-bearer  !  oh,  how  often  have  we  tried 
Some  little  load  of  duty  thus  to  bear, 
Which  grew  and  weighed  us  down,  till,  in  despair, 

Like  thee  for  help  we  cried  ! 

How  light  the  burden  that  we  raised  so  free  ! 
How  weak  the  knees  that  bowed  themselves  in  pain  ! 
Full  many  a  smallest  duty  doth  contain 

Christ  and  Gethsemane. 

O  Christ !  once  weary,  but  forevermore 
Strong  in  the  splendor  of  thy  saving  might, 
Be  with  us  through  the  waters,  when,  by  night, 

We  stumble  far  from  shore  ! 


99 


GARFIELD. 

O  NATION,  sitting  in  the  dust 

By  him  you  honored  so, 
Full  well  your  sorrow  ;   it  is  just 

Such  tribute  to  bestow. 

Fu\\  well  your  flags  that  kissed  the  sun 
Droop  half-mast  dashed  with  gloom, 

And  dirges  knell,  and  anthems  swell, 
And  brazen  requiems  boom. 

Ay,  well  that  mart  and  hall  and  dome 
Are  hung  with  mourning's  hue, 

But  better  still  that  shop/ and  home 
Are  hushed  with  sorrow  too. 

Oh,  prayer  unanswered,  though  so  fond  ! 

But  see  the  Father's  hand, 
Which  gives  to-day  this  perfect  bond 

Of  union  through  the  land. 

Oh  !   not  for  naught  ye  wreathe  the  white 
Above  the  black  of  woe  ; 

'Tis  standing  against  Heaven's  light, 

That  makes  Death  dark  below. 
Sept.,  1 88 1. 


PURITY. 

No  deed,  no  word,  no  thought  be  mine. 

That  I  would  wot  to  her  impart, 
Who  reigns,  sweet  human  maid  divine, 

The  empress  of  my  heart. 


100 


FALLEN. 

DEAD  !  my  darling,  my  eldest  born, 

So  strong,  so  handsome,  but  yesterday 

Kissed  me  good-bye,  and  they  say  this  morn 

He  is  dead  in  the  city,  and  I  away. 

Why  did  they  tell  me  so  late  as  this? 

A  mother's  hand  should  have  soothed  his  brow, 

A  mother's  lips  met  his  farewell  kiss, 

Her  ear  caught  the  words  that  are  silent  now. 

The  best  go  soonest,  ah  me,  how  sure  ! 

My  boy,  all  brimming  with  love  to  men, 

He  would  save  the  race,  would  have  all  men  pure. 

And  now  they  never  shall  see  him  again. 

But  in  vain  may  the  sad  earth  weep  and  moan, 

When  Heaven  opens  to  claim  its  own." 

/ 
Ah  !   the  saintly  mother  must  not  know 

How  it  was  that  her  darling  died  ; 

All  unworthy  a  mother's  pride. 

Dying  in  horror,  stricken  low, 

With  pangs  that  purity  never  won, 

Died,  and  was  buried  with  brutal  mirth, — 

Another  plague-spot  in  the  earth, — 

And  the  sunlight  was  sweeter  that  he  was  gone. 


CALM. 

ALONG  the  steel-blue  knife-edge  of  the  restful  ocean's 

rim, 
Two  ships  of  cloud  and   cob-web   do   unadvancing 


101 


EVENING. 

LIKE  an  unworded  thought  the  landscape  lay, 

Blurred  by  the  fog  and  shifting  formlessly ; 
The  great  elms  reached  aloft  and  far  away, 

And  struck  aerial  roots  into  the  sky ; 
The  village  vanished  with  its  eastward  vane ; 

The  pond  became  an  ocean,  and  the  fall 
Rumbled  unseen  ;  in  wood  and  flowery  plain 

The  song-birds  and  the  bees  were  silent  all. 


MORNING. 

GILDING  the  mist,  the  God-smile  of  the  dawn 

Broke  over  field  and  flood  ;  the  glistening  trees. 
Wind-swept,  flung  down  their  jewels  on  the  lawn. 

Then   raised   their  hands  to  greet   the  blithesome 

breeze  : 
The  new-mown  fields  were  all  pavilioned  white 

With  shining  cob-webs  by  the  mist  betrayed. 
The  golden  vapors  vanished  into  light, 

And  all  the  birds  a  glad-mouthed  music  made. 


MORN. 

A  THRILL  of  gladness  touched  the  heart  of  Day, 
And  it  awoke  from  sleep,  and,  kissing,  parted 
The  long  and  golden  lashes  of  the  Morn. 


102 

TRUTH. 

TRUTH,  I  will  clasp  thee  to  my  breast, 

Though  thy  pure  touch  consume  in  me 

The  half  my  heart ;  I  know  the  rest 

Will  beat  more  gladly,  beating  free. 

Behold,  I  lay  my  hand  in  thine, 

I  lift  mine  eyes  to  meet  thine  own, 

Though  shriveled  by  that  look  divine, 
Though  lifted  to  be  overthrown. 

Oh  !  give  me  strength  to  follow  thee, — 

'Tis  thou  must  give,  no  might  have  I, — 

And  I  will  follow,  though  it  be 

Through  martyr-fires  of  agony. 


SIN. 

SOMETIMES,  as  on  a  sunny  morn. 

Or  by  the  sea,  I  feel  that  sin, 
Though  with  my  body  it  were  born, 

Yet  with  my  soul  has  nothing  kin. 


LOVE. 

ASK  me  not  why  I  love  ;   it  is  enough 

That  I  may  love  ;  so  be  there  no  rebuff, 

Love  seeks  requital  none,  but  is  content 

In  pouring  itself  out,  and  grows  by  being  spent. 


103 

A  TWOFOLD  TEACHING. 

YELLOWLY  out  of  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
From  the  maple  branches  slender  and  high, 
Sliding  and  swirling  around  and  around, 
The  fall's  first  ripe  leaf  drops  to  the  ground. 

And  so  the  summer  is  over  and  gone, 
O  thin,  smooth  leaf  that  I  hold  in  my  hand  ; 
And  sunset  it  was  that  we  took  for  the  dawn. 
O  thin,  smooth  leaf,  who  gave  you  command 
To  banish  the  summer  yet  in  its  prime, 
The  fair,  sweet  summer  out  of  the  land, 
And  to  welcome  the  winter  before  its  time? 

O  little  leaf,  as  I  hold  you  here, 

Methinks  in  your  slender  and  white-ribbed  form. 

There  lurketh  a  chill  that  I  cannot  warm, 

Though  I  hold  you  in  both  my  hands  pressed  close 

Yea,  a  chill  that  so  but  the  stronger  grows, 

Till  the  warm  blood  shrinks  away  in  fear, 

From  a  nameless  power  that  it  cannot  oppose. 

'Tis  the  cringing  of  life  from  the  conqueror  death, 

In  bleak  foreboding  of  coming  doom. 

'Tis  the  soul's  withdrawing  with  bated  breath 

From  the  death-shade's  damp  and  evil  gloom  ; 

'Tis  the  world-old  feud  surviving  still, 

That  driveth  my  blood  from  the  leaf  so  chill. 

So  I  toss  the  wan  leaf  away  from  me, 
And  I  think,  •'  O  leaf,  how  calm  thou  art  !  " 
And  I  think  again,  "  Thou  hast  played  thy  part, 
And  therefore  hath  death  no  terrors  for  thee." 


104 


So  I  lift  my  eyes,  and  turn  them  aloft, 
And  see  the  bough  upon  which  it  grew ; 
And  lo  !  all  roughened  with  leaf-buds  new, 
Is  the  branch  where  the  dead  leaf  swung  so  oft. 

So  I  look  again  to  the  leaf  on  the  ground, 
And  my  heart  within  gives  a  throb  more  glad  ; 
And  I  say,  "  I  believe  while  I  spake  so  sad, 
That  the  life  I  mourned  I  should  see  no  more 
Has  been  lying  hidden  safe  and  sound, 
There  on  the  bough  where  it  swung  of  yore, 
Sheltered  safe  from  the  snow  and  the  rain, 
And  only  waiting  for  summer  again, 
To  blossom  more  beautiful  than  before  !  ' ' 


THE  OLD  MATHEMATICIAN. 

ALL  day  he  muttered  over  straws  and  sticks, 
But  could  not  tell  that  three  and  three  make  six. 
Then  two  times  two  went  from  him;   but  he  still 
Mumbled  and  fumbled  ;  by  and  by  fell  ill. 
With  his  last  breath  he  sat  upright  and  said  : 
"  The  circle  squared,  how  simple  !  "  and  was  dead. 


STORM. 

THE  lancing  lightning  thrusteth,  the  thunder  booms 
amain, 

And  sweeps  above  the  crushed  earth  the  myriad- 
marching  rain. 


105 

MAY. 

I  )iffugere  nivcs,  redcunt  jam  gramina  campis 
Arboribusque  coma:. — Horace. 

MARCH,  tearful  in  her  smiles,  is  past, 
And  April,  smiling  through  her  tears, 

And  now,  spring's  fairest  month  and  last, 
The  golden-girdled  May  appears. 

The  mornings  take  a  softness  on, 
That  is  not  kin  to  winter's  light, 

The  days  are  slower  to  be  gone. 
I  Jut  sunset  sooner  brings  the  night. 

The  scentless  purity  of  snow 

(lives  way  unto  the  mild  perfume 

Of  buds  that  burst  and  leaves  that  blow 
And  blossoms  breaking  into  bloom. 

The  brook,  late  bowed  with  icy  yokes, 
Leaps  like  the  squirrel  on  its  brink. 

And  in  the  amber  air  the  oaks 

Become  a  vaporous  ma/e  of  pink. 

The  sky  takes  on  a  deeper  blue 

To  match  the  sun's  intenser  glare: 

And,  winging  high  its  clearness  through, 
Return  the  song-birds  to  our  air. 

I' pon  the  sunn}"  slopes  appears 

A  strange,  portentous,  warlike  birth 

Of  golden  shields  and  jeweled  spears, 

Like  that  which  Cadmus  called  from  earth. 


106 

But  here  no  dragon's  teeth  were  sown. 

So  here  no  sons  of  earth  uprise ; 
The  dandelion  and  grass  alone 

Salute  the  wondering  traveler's  eyes. 

A  quivering  film  of  living  gold, 
Drifting  and  circling  in  the  sun, 

The  butterfly  we  now  behold, 

And,  greeting,  thank  her,  every  one, 

For  those  delicious  memories, 

Born,  like  the  sunshine,  in  the  East, 

That  she  recalls,  and  in  them  is 
Herself  remembered  not  the  least. 

O  Psyche,  teacher  sent  from  God, 

Thou  hoverest  near,  and  straight  mine  eye 

Looks  deeper  than  the  springing  sod, 
Looks  higher  than  the  axure  sky. 


FLOWERLKSS. 

SOME  plants  there  be  that  never  bloom, 
By  mid-day  glow  or  mid-night  gloom  : 
In  summer's  heat  or  winter's  cold,    . 
Nor  bud  nor  blossom  they  unfold. 
Not  only  in  the  fields  around, 
And  in  the  woods  these  plants  are  found. 
But  such  full  many  firesides  know. 
Fragrant  and  fair  that  flowerless  grow  ;— 
Because  they  wait  to  bloom,  I  wis, 
Beneath  some  brighter  sky  than  this. 


107 

CHILDREN. 

A  WORLD  without  any  children, — 

What  a  worn  old  world  it  would  be  ! 

A  dreary  life  in  a  world  like  that 

Would  be  worse  than  death  to  me. 

Then  come,  pink  May-buds  of  children, 
With  opening  hearts  like  the  morn  ; 

There's  hope  for  earth,  and  the  dwellers  of  earth, 
While  such  as  ye  are  born. 


EPIG^EA  REPENS*  CORONATA. 

'Tis  years  since  last  I  saw  thy  face, 

Epigsea, 

In  thy  wonted  dwelling-place, 
Made  a  heaven  by  thy  grace, 

Bella  mea. 

Bright  the  blue  sky  bends  o'erhead, 

Epigaea ; 

Pines  their  fragrance  round  me  shed. 

But  'twas  thine  my  steps  that  led, 

Bella  mea. 


*  Botanical  name  of  arbutus, 
The  bonniest  bloom  spring  sends  to  us  ; 
Though,  really,  that  wee,  pink,  hid-away  flower 
Smells  sweeter  by  the  name  of  mayflower. 


108 

Love  beheld  thee  on  the  ground, 

Epigaea, 

Through  dull  robes  thy  beauty  found, 
And  thy  life  with  fragrance  crowned, 

Bella  mea. 

Was  it  for  thy  beauty  he, 

Epigaea, 

Honored  thee  so  royally  ? 
(Never  queen  was  crowned  like  thee, 

Bella  mea  ! ) 

Nay,  thou  hadst  been  crowned  with  less, 

Epigeea. 

Rather  for  thy  lowliness 

Art  thou  made  so  blessed  to  bless, 

Bella  mea. 

Here  I  kneel  before  thy  throne, 

Epigsea, 

Woo  thee,  Sweetest,  for  mine  own, 

Place  thee  in  my  heart  alone, 

Bella  mea. 


LOVE  IN  THE  NORTHLAND. 

BREATHE  loud,  breathe  low, 
Blithe  winds  that  blow 

Betwixt  the  sun  and  sea, 
And  when  ye  trip 
O'er  Anna's  lip, 

Steal  thence  a  kiss  for  me. 


O  star  of  night, 

Burn  warm  and  bright, 

Melt  all  the  dark  to  gold  ; 
Thou  canst  not  burn 
Like  hearts  that  yearn 

Each  other  to  enfold. 

Thou,  star  divine, 
Canst  ne'er  outshine 

Her  eyes,  which  light  my  soul. 
()  winds  of  south, 
Her  fragrant  mouth 

Hath  sweets  ve  never  stole. 


ELDORADO. 

1  AM  poor  among  my  neighbors, 

And  the  rich  look  down  on  me, 

Even  friends  that  long  have  known  me 
Pit\-  me  my  poverty. 

But  although  for  me  too  quickly 

Winter  follows  after  fall, 
Though  my  food  is  coarse  and  scanty, 

I  am  richer  than  they  all. 

They,  perchance,  the  wealthiest  of  them, 
Build  them  ships  or  buy  them  land, 

Rear  them  houses  ;  I  have  castles, 

Kingdoms,  fleets  at  my  command. 


110 

They  have  households,  I  have  nations ; 

They  have  gold  in  hoarded  piles, 
I  have  diamond  mountain  ranges, 

Lakes  of  pearl  that  stretch  for  miles. 

Ruby  rivers,  skies  of  sapphire, 

Jasper  meadows,  emerald  trees, 

And  uncounted  bands  of  yeomen 
Placed  in  keeping  over  these. 

But,  alas  !  my  brave  possessions 

wOnocr  Sctfid   . 

Are  a  wonderful  in  Spain, 
And  of  all  my  ships  sent  thither 
Not  one  has  come  back  again. 

Have  they  all  been  stranded,  sunken, 
Lured  to  death  by  siren  charms? 

Have  the  ghostly,  gliding  icebergs 

Clutched  and  crushed  them  in  their  arms  ? 

Tempest-tost  or  fog-bewildered, 

Whatsoever  fate  was  theirs, 
Nothing  know  I,  and  unknowing, 

Still  have  hope  amid  my  fears  ; 

Often  fancying  at  morning, 

As  I  gaze  upon  the  sea, 
That  the  white  sails  seen  afar-off, 

Are  my  ships  come  back  to  me. 

Often  fancying  at  evening, 

When  the  light-strikes  broad  and  low. 
That  within  the  eastern  shadows, 

I  behold  my  banners  blow. 


Ill 

And,  though  often  faint  with  watching, 
Sick  with  fears  that  will  not  rest, 

Still  I  launch  and  send  my  vessels, 
On  their  unreturning  quest. 

Longing,  praying,  hoping,  trusting 
Through  my  bitterness  of  pain, 

That  they  all,  a  grand  armada, 

One  day  will  come  back  from  Spain  ; 

And,  returning,  bear  me  with  them, 
Whither  all  my  treasures  are, 

In  the  land  of  youth  eternal, 

Underneath  the  morning  star. 


June,  1879. 


TO  THE  FIRE-FLY. 

W  V1  ~!irp  at:    ..     . 

STROLLING  watehmg  of  the  twilight. 
Guiding  others  by  thine  eyelight ; 
Lanterned,  lone  Diogenes, 
Coursing  curious  through  the  trees  ; 
Delver  in  the  depths  of  night, 
With  thy  miner's-lamp  alight  ; 
Flitting,  phosphorescent  creature — 
Would  I  had  thee  for  my  teacher  ! 
For  thou  knowest  much,  I  ween, 
That  no  man  hath  ever  seen, 
With  whatever  rich  and  rare, 
Lieth  hidden  anywhere. 


112 

Having  thee  to  go  before, 
All  the  forest  I'd  explore ; 
And  thy  taper  should  disclose 
Every  secret  that  it  owes  ; — 
Where  the  grosbeak  builds  her  nest, 
Where  the  owls  in  daytime  rest, 
Where  the  fairies  dance  in  rings, 
Where  the  adders  whet  their  stings, 
In  what  place  the  rainbow's  coiled 
Lest  its  beauties  should  be  spoiled, 
What  the  aspen  is  afraid  of, 
What  the  autumn's  dyes  are  made  of. 
These,  and  many  more  beside, 
Would  I  learn  with  thee  to  guide. 
But,  alas  !   it  may  not  be. 
Only  they  that  cannot  see 
Have  the  chance  to  look,  and  they 
That  could  see  are  kept  away. 
Yet,  I  fain  would  thank  thee,  fly, 
For  the  moments  thou  art  nigh  ; 
Since  thou  mindest  me  of  what, 
All  too  often,  is  forgot : 
That  whoever  looks  with  love 
On  the  meanest  of  God's  works. 
Sees  a  light,  which  in  it  lurks. 
Imaging  the  light  above. 


June,  1878. 


113 

THE  SINGER. 

THERE  came  on  a  time  unto  me 
A  song  bird  from  over  the  sea. 

A  friend  from  a  land  far  away ; 
Her  eyes  had  the  noon  overfraught, 
While  the  gold  of  her  tresses  had  caught 

The  last  kiss  of  dawn  and  the  day. 

There  came  unto  me  on  a  time 
A  friend  from  a  far-away  clime, 

A  song  bird  from  over  the  sea ; 
She  is  gone  with  the  years  that  are  gone, 
But  the  voice  of  her  singing  sounds  on. 

And  never  is  silent  to  me. 


THE  FROLIC  OF  THE  LEAVES. 

THE  leaves  of  the  elm  and  the  maple 
First  opened  their  wondering  eyes, 

Under  the  bending  beauty 
Of  the  azure  April  skies. 

They  drank  in  the  warmth  of  spring-time, 
Then  threw  off  their  swathing  bands 

And  reached  out  into  the  sunlight 
Their  pink,  imploring  hands. 

They  were  rocked  in  the  arms  of  summer, 
While  wandering  winds  above 

Crooned  a  low  lullaby  to  them, 
In  murmuring  music  of  love. 


114 

But  the  drowsy  charm  of  the  west-wind 

The  leaves  threw  off  ere  long, 
For  they  heard  in  the  blue  above  them 

The  bright  bird's  tempting  song  ; 

And  beneath  them  they  saw  the  greensward, 

With  its  beckoning  blooms,  and  they  sighed 

To  be  out  of  the  lonely  tree-top, 
Into  the  world  so  wide. 

But  the  mother  bade  them  be  patient, 

And  wait  till  the  autumn  should  come, 

And  then,  when  their  wings  were  stronger, 
She  would  let  them  fly  from  home. 

At  last,  after  watching  and  waiting, 

Autumn,  the  beautiful,  came, 
Stepping  with  sandals  of  silver, 

Decked  with  a  mantle  of  flame. 

Then  Nature,  the  loving  mother, 

In  the  moony  month  of  sheaves, 

Arrayed  in  yellow  and  crimson 

Her  children,  the  forest  leaves. 

She  lingered  long  o'er  their  beauty ; 

At  last,  one  October  morn, 
When  the  ground  was  sprinkled  with  frost-pearls, 

And  the  last  of  the  song-birds  had  gone. 

She  spake  to  them  softly  and  called  them, 

While  she  brushed  a  tear  away, 
Which  they  saw  not, — and  told  them, 

They  now  might  go  out  and  play. 


115 

The  leaves  clapped  their  hands,  delighted, 

And  shouted  loud  in  their  glee  ; 
Then  sprang  on  the  back  of  the  north-wind, 

Which  lifted  and  set  them  free. 

Ha  !    'twas  a  glorious  riding, 

As  they  leaped  away  with  the  blast, 
Frisking  along  over  fences, 

Scampering  gaily  and  fast  ; 

Racing  and  dancing  and  darting, 

Now  hurrying  back  to  their  home. 
Then  trooping  away  to  the  brooklet, 

Which  chased  them  and  splashed  them  with  foam  ; 

No\v  frolicking  high  in  the  sunlight, 

Now  whirling  low  on  the  ground. 
On,  without  stopping  to  rest  them. 

Onward  in  merriest  round. 

So  sped  the\'.      At  last  the  north-wind 

Began  to  grow  chill  and  bleak  ; 
Their  dresses  were  torn  and  faded, 

Their  feet  were  weary  and  weak. 

So  Nature,  the  loving  mother, 

Who  had  watched  them  with  many  fears. 
Laid  them  to  rest  on  the  brown  earth, 

She  had  softened  with  her  tears  ; 

Then  covered  them  tenderly,  softly, 

With  snow-blankets  warm  and  deep, — 

Her  children,  tired  of  playing, 

And  weary,  and  full  of  sleep.  * 

Jan.,  1878, 


116 

OVER-BIRTH . 

As  the  sun  in  setting  rises. 

Sinks  into  another  day, 
And  our  sunset  blends  with  sunrise 

In  far-off  and  fair  Cathay; 

So  we  find  a  birth  in  dying, 

So  we  find,  when  life  is  done, 

And  our  friends  are  lost  in  darkness, 
Passing  from  us  one  by  one, 

And  the  world  grows  fainter,  dimmer, 
And  at  last  fades  all  away, — 

Not  a  night  in  death  before  us, 
But  a  bright,  eternal  day. 


THE  PATH  TO  SONGLAND. 

WHERE  is  the  path  to  Songland  ? 

For  my  feet  have  gone  astray, 
And  day  and  night  I  wander, 

And  cannot  find  the  way. 

O  broad,  white  path  to  westward, 

Under  the  sunset's  red, 
Is  thy  pavilioned  pavement 

Whereon  my  feet  must  tread  ? 

So  I  turn  my  steps  to  the  westward, 
But,  ere  ever  a  mile  is  done. 

The  fields  of  red,  o'er  the  path  of  white, 
Have  vanished  with  the  sun. 


117 

O  stream  that  singest  forever, 

With  tuneful  voice  and  strong. 
Thy  music,  didst  thou  not  learn  it 

Within  the  walls  of  song? 

And,  if  I  follow  thee  northward. 

Shall  I  not  at  last  behold 
The  diamond  walls  that  I  see  in  dreams, 

And  the  roofs  and  spires  of  gold  ? 

But  the  stream  goes  on  with  its  music, 

And  makes  no  answer  to  me, 
Till  my  heart  is  sick  with  yearning 

For  the  land  that  I  may  not  see. 

Then  I  look  far  under  the  morning, 

And  ga/e  on  the  hills  of  blue  ; 
And  I  think,  "  If  I  stood  on  your  heights,  mayhap 

1  could  find  my  way  anew." 

But  scarce  have  I  turned  to  saek  them, 
With  heart  that"  would  fain  be  light, 

When  a  mist  comes  down  on  the  hills  of  morn, 
And  hides  them  from  my  sight. 

And  now  return  the  song-birds 

Back  from  their  southern  home, 
Leaving  a  trail  of  music 

Behind  them  as  they  come. 

And  J  think,  "  Oh  1  surely,  surely, 

The  land  I  seek  lies  here." 
But  many  a  weary  mile  I've  gone, 

And  never  a  step  more  near  ; 


118 

And  so,  forever  seeking, 

And  baffled  as  ever  before, 
I  said,  "  The  Songland  is  not  for  me, 

I  will  seek  its  path  no  more." 

And  then  an  angel  came  and  laid 

Upon  me  a  hand  of  pain, 
And  straightway  were  my  footsteps  bent 

Toward  the  Land  of  Song  again. 


THE  WORLD-VOICE. 

THE  great,  loud  world  hath  many  tongues, 

But  voices  only  one  ; 
It  speaketh  in  the  shouting  stream. 

And  in  the  silent  sun. 

One  word  alone  it  speaketh  aye, 

Below,  around,  above  ;— • 
Hark  !   even  now  the  maple  buds 

Whisper  and  call  it  "  Love." 


SUCCESS. 

PUT  the  goal  at  fifty  paces  ; 

Mark  each  come  in. 
Put  it  fifty  score  ;   the  race's 

Former  laggard*s  win, 


119 

THE  POET. 

WHO  is  the  poet  ?     Who  is  he 
But  the  man  of  tears  in  the  midst  of  glee  ? 
And  who  is  he  but  the  man  of  mirth 
Amid  the  sorrows  and  sighs  of  earth  ? 

He  sees  too  clear,  and  he  sees  too  deep, 
Not  to  be  laughing  when  others  weep; 
And  he  sees  too  deep  and  clear  by  half, 
Not  to  be  weeping  when  others  laugh. 


RECOMPENSE. 

THE  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slo\vly, 
But  the  mills  of  the  gods  grind  long, 

And  under  the  stars  the  mill-wheels 
May  sing  a  merrier  song. 


VVANHOPE. 

ASHES  of  roses,  ashes, 

And  my  life  is  a  faded  coal, 
Where  the  fires  of  passion  have  slackened 

On  the  hearthstone  of  the  soul. 

Ashes,  ashes  of  roses, 

And  my  heart  is  ashes  and  dust, 
While  slowly  over  the  love  that  burned, 

Gathers  a  whitening  crust. 


120 


Ashes,  my  heart  is  a  cinder. 

Blackened,  burnt  out  and  a-cold, 

That  is  blown  by  the  gusts  of  winter 
To  its  grave  in  the  icy  wold. 


ANTECEDENTS. 

"  WHAT  was  the  way  ?  " 

Oh  !   who  can  say  ? 

A  look, 

A  word, 

A  book, 

A  bird, 

Sheep' s-eyes 

And  sighs, 

A  kiss 

And  bliss, 

Then,  by  and  by, 

I. 


SUNLIGHT. 

O  LOVE,  in  the  laugh  of  the  sunlight, 
The  doubts  of  the  dark  flee  away 

The  twilight  is  lost  in  the  one  light, 
The  dawn-bud  in  dav. 


121 


IN  TAU  KAPPA  PHI. 

SAID  Brother  A.  to  Brother  B.,  "Is  everything  at  hand 
To  greet  our  brethren  visitant  and  make  their  hearts 

expand  ? 
Has  Brother  D.  scoured  up  the  bones  and  dusted 

out  the  coffin, 
And  fixed  the  skull  the  same  sweet  smile  it  saw  the 

fellows  off  in  ? 
If  so,  what  brings  you  weeping?     Why  court  that 

solemn  vein  ? 
High   tragedy    is    not  your  hold,   I   prithee  smile 

again." 
Then  out  spake  Brown  the  guileful,  oh,  Brown  that 

man  of  guile  ! 
•'  Alas  !   there's  something  lacking  yet  to  fit  us  out 

in  style ; 
We  need,  as  'twere  a  sprig  of  green  to  deck  our 

banquet's  crockery, 

But  everything  I've  sampled  yet  has  proved  a  hol 
low  mockery. 
Of  course  I  mean  a  mental  green,   my  words  are 

metaphorical, 
But  all  I've  tried,  as  I  have  said,  has  turned  phan- 

tasmagorical." 
Here    Brother  A.   shed  briny  tears   to   see    Brown 

grow  pathetic, 
And    throw    his    dictionary    up    without    the   least 

emetic. 
But    Brown  cried  out,    "  Eureka,   I  have  it,   habet 

me  ! 
A  poem  is  the  thing  we  want,  I'll  get  it  too,  you'll 

see. 


122 


I've  only  just  to  drop  a  line  to  our  good  Brother  K. , 
The  man  that  all  the  Muses  love  (to  have  him  keep 

away), 
And  in  a  trice,  as  slick  as  mice,  he'll  send  me  back  a 

poem, 
With  every  line  so  full  of  green  'twill  fairly  overflow 

'em." 
Then  Brown  the  base,  bad  as  his  word,  sat  down  and 

wrote  the  letter. 
And  this  is  what  K.  sent  him  back, — and  wishes  it 

were  better. 

Hail  to  thee,  star-crowned  Nourishing  Mother, 
Throned  amid  billows  of  blossom  and  foam, 

Lo !   we  come  back  to  thee,  brother  and  brother, 

Children  of  thine  that  have  wandered  from  home. 

Well  has  it  fared  with  thee,  Ancient  in  Glory, 
Lightly  the  years  have  swept  over  thy  brow, 

Sons  of  thine  age  grow  decrepit  and  hoary, 

Thou  wast  ne'er  younger  nor  fairer  than  now. 

Brothers  in  honor  and  love  reassembled, 

What  is  the  message  ye  bring  from  afar? 

Weakness  that  doubted  and  faltered  and  trembled  ? 
Courage  that  triumphed  with  many  a  scar  ? 

Praise  not  or  blame  not  the  day  till  it's  ended  ; 

Blue  skies  may  smile  in  the  hurricane's  track. 
Loveliest  mornings  too  often  are  blended 

With  horror  of  tempest  and  darkness  and  rack. 


123 


Leave  to  the  rough  world  its  doubt  and  derision, 
Breathe  for  one  night  but  the  sweet  air  of  love, 

Fondly  recalling  the  past's  vanished  vision, 
Boldly  await  what  the  future  shall  prove. 

O  ye,  the  younger,  that  stand  in  our  places, 

True  is  the  grasp  that  your  greetings  bestow, 

Loving  the  welcome  that  shines  in  your  faces, 

Fondly  we  hail  you -with  hearts  that  o'erflow. 

All  the  old  joy  wakes  anew  in  your  presence, 

Hope  that  leaped  forward  athirst  for  the  strife, 

Faith  in  mankind,  in  its  princes  and  peasants, 
Bliss  of  but  breathing,  and  rapture  of  life. 

Long  may  the  Mother  that  cherished  us  meet  us, 
High  let  her  sons  lift  her  ancient  renown  • 

Still  may  we  find  loving  voices  to  greet  us, 

True  hands  to  clasp  as  in  years  that  are  flown. 

So,  hand  in  hand,  while  reluctant  we  sever, 

This  be  our  pledge  in  the  Tau  Kappa  Phi  : 

Truth  to  our  loved  Alma  Mater,  and  ever, 
Faith  and  devotion  and  love  to  the  Chi. 

For  the  five-yearly  reunion  of  the  Chi  of  the  Zeta  Psi.,  Colby 
University,  Commencement,  1885. 


TEMPLES. 

THE  mighty  temples  built  of  yore 
Lacked  yet  the  roof  on  high  ; 

So  be  thy  soul  walled  round  about, 
But  open  to  the  sky. 


124 


THREE  LETTERS. 

i. 
How  I  love  it !  our  sturdy  old  English, 

Which  Hengest  and  Horsa  brought  o'er  ; 
The  speech  with  the  sough  of  the  pine-boughs, 

And  the  roar  on  the  frore  white  shore. 
I've  read  to-night  tilll  I'm  nodding, 

And  ought  to  be  snugly  abed  ; 
But  the  snow  whirls  without  in  the  darkness. 

And  in-doors  the  fire-light  flames  red  ; 
And,  somehow,  I  can't  think  of  sleeping 

Till  I've  had  a  talk  with  my  chum. 
Do  you  know  it's  nigh  ten  years,  old  fellow. 

Since  we  two  were  graduates  glum  ? 
It  is,  though,  and  now,  next  commencement, 

We  both  must  make  sure  to  go  back. 
To  meet  round  the  merry  old  table, — 

God  grant  that  no  face  we  may  lack  ! 
What  fun  it  will  be  then  to  meet  them, 

And  hear  what  they  all  have  to  say! — 
The  toilers,  whose  play  has  been  working, 

The  drones,  who've  been  working  at  play. 
I  can  see  them  now,  Fred  with  his  blue  eyes, 

And  Jack  with  his  dandified  air. 
(They  say  Jack  is  safe  for  a  judgeship, 

And  Fred  for  a  congressman's  chair.) 
But,  somehow,  our  bard  has  turned  doctor, 

Our  pitcher  has  pitched  into  sin, — 
I  mean  from  the  pulpit, — they  whisper 

That  Brooklyn  is  roping  him  in. 
Then  there  was  our  bashful  "  Sweet  William," 

Shot-proof  against  feminine  tricks. 


125 


He's  a  boarding-school-ma'am's  husband  somewhere, 

They  say  that  his  latest  makes  six. 
And  that  reminds  me  how  many 

Good  fellows  are  in  the  same  box  : 
First  strung  up  in  Dan  Cupid's  pillory, 

And  then  clapped  by  Hymen  in  stocks. 
Don't  you  pity  them  all,  the  poor  fellows, 

To  think  of  the  woes  they've  been  through? 
Why  they  are  old  stagers  by  this  time, 

No  longer  young  bucks  like  us  two. 
I'm  younger  than  I  was  in  college, 

And  you've  not  grown  older  a  day. 
To  be  sure,  my  brush  strikes  a  few  gray  hairs, 

But  for  years  I've  been  just  a  bit  gray. 
What  was  it  you  wrote  of  a  bald  spot? 

Oh.  nonsense  !   You  must  have  caught  cold. 
Take  a  hot  lemonade  with  a  stick  in, — 

We  bachelors  never  grow  old. 
L  saw  Phil  last  week  in  the  bosom, 

Etc.,  etc.,  one  brat, 
Tow-headed,  with  eyes  like  a  pansy, 

Just  learning  to  spell  dog  and  cat. 
It's  mother  I  used  to  meet  sometimes, 

Before  she  became  Mrs.  Phil. 
A  plum])  little  yellow-haired  creature, 

With  a  voice  like  a  leaf-dappled  rill. 
Not  so  fine,  though,  as  Miss  Smith,  my  neighbor's, 

Her  cousin,  but  younger  and  much 
Better  looking,  and  brainier  likewise, 

With  gold  hair  like  silk  to  the  touch. 
By  the  way,  you  should  hear  her  read  Csedmon. 

Oh  !   she  can  '•  <jit  inc  "  with  the  best. 


126 

Fine  mind,  and  no  blue-stocking  either. 

But  socially  much  in  request. 
We've  just  begun  reading  Beowulf. 

Last  evening,  to  my  surprise, — 
Would  you  think  it? — The  "  unibor  wesende 

Brought  tears  to  the  dear  creature's  eyes. 
Then  Mac,  I  presume  you  kno\v,  married, 

But  she's  a  brunette,  seems  to  me. 
I've  no  taste  for  crow-colored  tresses  : 

But  it's  lucky  we  don't  all  agree. 
Well,  so  the  boys  launch  out  and  leave  us. 

Old  fellow,  don't  you  take  a  flight. 
If  you  do,  but  of  course  not,  what  nonsense  ! 

Ta,  ta  !   This  must  do  for  to-night. 


So  you  ask  my  congratulations. 

Ah  !   little  had  ever  I  thought, 
Since  first  we  clave  to  each  other, 

To  be  thus  by  my  chum  besought. 
For  I  had  dreamed  of  our  friendship 

As  something  that  never  should  wane 
That  "  passing  the  love  of  women  " 

Should  be  the  love  of  us  twain. 
And  I  had  planned  and  expected 

That,  when  the  years  had  gone  by, 
And  we  were  grown  old  in  harness, 

We  should  set  forth,  you  and  I  ; 
And,  boys  at  heart  as  aforetime. 

Wander  by  land  and  sea, 
Together  and  always  together, 

In  converse  loving  and  free  ; 


127 


And,  at  last,  when  the  world  was  rounded, 

We  should  drift  into  some  retreat 
By  the  speaking  sea  and  abide  there 

Till  life  its  years  complete. 
Why.  so  had  we  spoken  together. 

And  so  I  supposed  you  had  meant, 
Hut.  presto  !   a  sudden  fancy. 

And  a  life-lime's  purpose  is  rent. 
1  cannot  be  less  than  your  friend, 

Howeyer  you  deal  with  me. 
I  wish  you  joy  :   but  I  cannot 

Forget  what  I  hoped  should  be. 
Nor  can  1  refrain  from  wishing 

Thai  sometimes,  'mid  all  your  cheer. 
You  may  think  of  my  dreary  chamber, 

Which  you  haye  made  doubly  drear. 
Hut  I  pray  to  (lod  that  never 

Hy  you  may  be  seen  or  known 
The  spectre  that  sits  by  my  hearth-stone, 

In  place  of  the  hopes  that  are  flown. 

3- 

[  read  the  account  of  the  wedding. 

It  must  ha\-e  been  quite  an  affair. 
Hut.  bless  me,  how  could  you  stand  it, 

With  all  of  that  fuss  and  flare? 
Now,  we  intend  to  be  married 

In  the  quietest  possible  way, — 
1  mean,  that  is,  don't  you  think  so? 

Or.  rather,  that  is  to  say. — 
Confound  the  heat  of  this  weather  ! 

If  I  seem  mixed  up,  that's  to  blame. 


128 


Forgive  the  way  that  I  answered, 

When  first  your  announcement  rame. 
Just  then  I  was  feeling  down-hearted, 

And  things  looked  frightfully  blue  ; 
But,  since  then,  the  sky  has  brightened, 

And  brightened  to  stay  so,  too. 
I  send  this  to  you  at  Mt.  Desert. 

How  long  are  you  going  to  stay? 
It  might  come  so  we  could  meet  there  ; 

We  leave  here  a  week  from  to-day. 
By  the  way,  do  you  talk  of  building? 

I  think  it's  pleasant,  don't  you? 
When  the  wife  keeps  the  home  of  her  girlhood. 

And1  needn't  begin  all  new. 
But,  dear  me  !    I've  no  time  to  scribble. 

So,  here's  to^ea.  kin's  and  kith's 
Best  health.      I  shall  have  to  be  going  ; 

I  take  tea  now  with  the  Smiths. 


LOVE'S  ARROW. 

OH,  say  !   what  wonder  of  wings  is  this, 
That  flieth  hitherward  so  straight? 

Of  rainbow7  and  gold,  a  ferly  iwis  ; 
Alack  !   the  knowledge  came  too  late. 

For  the  shaft  of  Love,  that  feathered  flew, 
Hath  smitten  and  girt  me  to  the  heart  ; 

I  thought  it  a  bird  of  rainbow  hue  ; — 

Oh,  strangely  sweet  is  the  pang  and  smart  ! 


129 
AT  MY  NORTHERN  WINDOW. 

THE  sun  in  winter  never  deigns 

To  light  my  northern  window  panes, 

Hut,  here  the  revelling  storm-winds  throw 

Their  carnival  salutes  of  snow; 

And  hither,  from  his  polar  home, 

Comes,  brush  in  hand,  the  painter  gnome, 

His  icy  palette  frost-inlaid, 

And,  deftly  blending  light  and  shade, 

He  brings  upon  the  frescoed  pane 

The  summer's  foliage  back  again. 

The  pines  are  white,  the  willows  gray, 

The  shrubs  fantastically  gay  ; 

The  snow  lies  crusted  on  the  fields, 

The  stream  its  unsung  harvest  yields, 

The  shivering  day  is  early  gone, 

The  Bear  keeps  watch  until  the  dawn. 


But,  when  the  new  year's  bridal  white 
Is  doffed  lor  spring-time's  household  hue, 
My  window  grants  a  milder  view, 
An  outlook  less  unkindly  bright. 
Oh  !   sweet  in  winsome  April  days 
Across  the  valley-land  to  gaze, 
And  strive  to  mark  the  viewless  line 
Where  meadow-brown  and  blue  combine. 
To  right  the  steady  waters  roll, 
Like  the  unwinding  of  a  scroll 
With  runic  letters  writ  upon, — 
The  logs  the  current  hurries  on. 


130 

In  summer-time  the  listless  trees 

Make  amorous  dalliance  with  the  breeze. 

The  scaling  swallows  mount  so  high, 

They  seem  imprinted  on  the  sky, 

The  grasses  wave,  the  daisies  nod. 

The  flowers  throw  kisses  at  the  sod. 

Such  sights  my  window  shows  by  day, 

But,  when  the  night  has  frayed  away 

The  day-time  gloss,  it  only  brings 

A  softer  loveliness  to  things. 

The  stars  look  out  in  grave  surprise, 

Like  cradled  children's  wakeful  eyes  ; 

Light-lured,  unto  my  window's  height 

The  beetle  spins  its  winding  flight  : 

Along  the  river  flowing  black, 

The  fire-fly's  beacon  flashes  back  ; 

And  lo  !  far  off  upon  its  course. 

The  night-train,  burrowing  through  the  dark, 

And  flinging  back  in  flame  and  spark 

The  blackness  into  which  it  bores  ! 

Shy,  russet  Autumn,  Indian  maid. 
With  rubies  on  thy  forehead  laid. 
Who  dost  the  fickle  brooklet  teach 
Thy  low  melodious  foreign  speech. 
And,  huntress,  chases t  bow  in  hand 
The  song-birds  to  the  southern  land  ; 
I  see  thy  footprints,  hear  the  rush 
Thy  trailing  garments  make,  the  hush 
That  follows  when  thou  passest  by, 
But  thou  art  viewless  to  mine  eye. 
My  window  shows  where  thou  hast  been, 


131 

But  thou  thyself  art  never  seen. 
O  Northern  Landscape,  studied  long, 
In  storm  and  sun,  in  light  and  shade  ; 
Take  this  poor  gift  of  grateful  song, 
And  make  the  giver  overpaid  ! 

Colby  University,  fune,  1878. 


FORE-SONG  TO  BEOWULF. 

From  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

WHAT  !   we  have  learned  of  the  Gar-Dane  kings 

in  the  days  of  yore ; 
Their  deeds  and  the  glory  thereby,   which  the  noble 

athelings  bore. 

Often,  of  srather  kindreds,  did  Scyld  the  Scefing  hurl 
Many  a  band  from  their  mead-seats ;    great  was  their 

fear  of  the  earl. 
So,  after  first  men  found  him,  an  outcast,  wrought  he 

and  strove, 
Thence   looked   for   ease    unto    hardship,    and   waxed 

under  welkin  and  throve. 

Till  all  men  duelling  about  him  must  over  the  whale- 
road  bring 

Fees  of  gold  and  obeisance  ;    that  was  a.  goodly  king. 
Thereafter,  young  in  his  courts,   a  man-child   to  him 

was  born  ; 
God  sent  him  to  gladden  the  people  ;    He  wist  of  the 

need  forlorn, 


132 


Aforetime  which  they  had  suffered,  when  a  long  while 

lordless  they  dwelt, 
Therefore    the   Glory-wielder  world-honor  unto  him 

dealt. 
Beowulf  throve  and  was  great,  and  the  Scede-king- 

doins  were  filled 
With  the  far-heard  tale  of  the  welfare  befallen  the 

heir  of  Scyld. 
So  shall  a  young  man   work  with  fees  in   his  father's 

hall, 
That,   after,    when   eld   is   upon   him,    liegemen   may 

dwell  at  his  call, 
To  fight  for  his  folk  in  the  battle,  when  come  the  evil 

days, 
For  man   in   every  kindred  shall   thrive  by  deeds  of 

praise. 
Then  went  Scyld  the  toiler,   when    the  shapen   time 

had  come, 
To  enter  into  the  promise  and  peace  of  his  Master's 

home ; 
And  then  it  was  that  his  liegemen  bare  to  the  water's 

brim 
The  Scyldings'    friend,   as  aforetime  they    had    been 

bidden  of  him, 
While  yet  their  lief  lord's  word-sway   \vas  mighty   in 

the  land. 
There  at  hythe  stood  read}'  a   ring-stemmed  ship  on 

the  strand, 
Ice-bright,  meet  for  an  atheling.  into  \\-hose  bosom  at 

last, 
They  laid  him,  the  ring-bestower,   the  mighty,  down 

by  the  mast. 


133 


Therein  they  brought  great  treasure  of  jewels  from  far 

away. 

Never  of  keel  yet  heard  I  more  comely  in  array, 
With   weapons  and   weeds  of  battle,   with   bills  and 

with  byrnes  good, 
Gems  lay  thick  on  his  bosom,  the  waiting  prey  of  the 

flood. 
Not   less  with   treasure  they  decked  him,  a  nation's 

gifts,  than  did  those 
That   sent    him  at  first  o'er  the  waters,  a  child  that 

wist  not  its  woes. 
Moreover  they  brought  in  their  homage  an  ensign, 

wroughten  of  gold  ; 
High  over  head  they  set  it.  then  drew  they  forth  from 

the  hold, 
And  gave  the  ship  to  the  billows  to  bear  him  far  from 

the  shore. 
Sad  were  the  hearts  within  them,   mournful  the  mood 

they  bore, 
And  say  for  sooth  can  no  men,  though  hall-defenders 

and  great, 
Heroes   under   the   heaven,    who   drew   to   land   that 

freight. 


SWEDENBORG. 

HE  trod  with  shodden  feet  God's  altar  floor, 

With  unanointcd  eyes 
Looked  on  the  Holiest,  and  forevermore 

Discerned  not  truth  from  lies. 


THE  LORELEY. 

From  the  German  of  Heine. 

I  KNOW  not  what  it  betokens 
That  I  am  so  sad  to-day  ; 

There's  a  legend  out  of  the  old  time- 
That  haunts  me  and  will  not  away 

The  air  is  cool  and  darkling, 

The  Rhine  flows  calm  below. 

And  the  hill-top  riscth  sparkling 
Into  the  sunset  glow. 

A  maiden  sitteth  wondrous, 

Aloft  in  beauty  there  ; 
Her  golden  jewels  glitter, 

She  combs  her  golden  hair. 

She  combs  it  with  golden  comb, 
And  a  lay  therewith  sings  she, 

That  hath  a  \vondcrsome. 
Entrancing  melody. 

In  his  little  boat  the  sailor, 

With  yearning  wild,  draws  nigh  : 
He  sees  not  the  reefs  before  him, 

He  sees  but  her  on  high. 

I  wis  the  waves  will  swalluw 

The  sailor  aiul  boa^  anon  ; 

And  that  is  what  with  her  singing 
The  Lorelev  hath  done. 


135 

DAVID'S  LAMENT  OVER  SAUL  AND 
JONATHAN. 

SLAIN  is  the  glory  of  Israel, 
Stricken  upon  thine  high  places ; 
How  are  the  mighty  fallen  ! 

Tell  ye  it  not  in  Gath, 
Nor  in  Ashkelon  streets  proclaim  it ; 
Lest  the  foeman's  daughters  rejoice, 
The  Philistine  maidens  triumph. 

Ye  mountains  of  Gilboa. 
Let  there  be  no  rain  upon  you, 
Neither  dew  nor  fields  of  offerings  ; 
For  there  the  shield  of  the  mighty, 
The  shield  of  Saul  was  abandoned, 
As  of  the  unanointed. 

From  the  blood  of  the  slain  the  bow 
Of  Jonathan  turned  not  back  ; 
From  the  flesh  of  the  mighty  returned  not 
Fruitless  the  sword  of  Saul. 

Lovely  were  Saul  and  Jonathan, 
Lovely  and  sweet  in  their  lives  ; 
And  in  death  were  they  not  divided. 
Swifter  they  were  than  eagles, 
And  stronger  than  lions  were  they. 

Weep,  ye  daughters  of  Israel, 
Weep  over  Saul  the  splendid, 
Who  clad  you  in  joy  of  scarlet, 
Who  decked  with  gold  your  apparel. 

How  are  the  mighty  fallen, 
Slain  in  the  midst  of  the  battle ! 
Stricken  wast  thou,  O  Jonathan, 


136 

Fighting  upon  thine  high  places. 
I  am  distressed  for  thee,  Jonathan ; 
Sweet  to  me  wast  thou,  my  brother  ; 
Thy  love  unto  me  was  wonderful, 
Passing  the  love  of  women. 

How  are  the  mighty  fallen, 
And  the  weapons  of  warfare  perished 


THE  DYING  HADRIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL. 

ANIMULA,  vagula,  blandula, 
Hospes  comesque  corporis, 
Quas  mine  abibis  in  loca, 
Pallidula,  rigida,  nudula, 
Nee  ut  soles  dabis  jocos  ? 

TRANSLATION. 

WINSOME,  wayward  spirit  guest, 
Playmate,  whither  now  thy  quest  ? 
Faded  eye  and  faltering  lip, 
Why  no  more  your  laugh  and  quip  ? 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  MOON. 

From  the  German  of  Hoffmann  von  Fallersleben. 
WHO  hath  the  fairest  lambkins? 

The  golden  Moon,  I  ween, 
Who,  down  behind  our  tree-tops, 

In  heaven  dwells  unseen. 


187 

She  comes  at  latest  even, 
When  all  in  slumber  lie, 

Hither  from  her  fair  dwelling, 
Into  the  peaceful  sky. 

Then  pastures  she  her  lambkins 
Upon  its  dark,  blue  meads, 

For  all  the  stars  so  golden 
Are  but  the  flock  she  feeds. 

They  never  scold  nor  quarrel, 
But  one  another  love  ; 

Brothers  and  sisters  dwell  they, 
The  stars  in  heaven- above. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER. 

Iliad,  I ;  1-5. 

THE  wrath  sing,  O  Goddess,  of  Achilles,   Peleusson, 
Deadly,  which  for  Achaeans  myriad  evils  won, 
And  many  souls  undaunted  to  Hades  sent  along, 
But  gave  the  heroes'  bodies  a  prey  to  all  the  throng 
Of  dogs  and  fowls — for  suchwise  was  wrought  the  will 

of  Jove — 
From  when,  at  the  beginning,   fell  out  the  twain  that 

strove, 
Atreides,  king  of  men,  and  Achilles  the  renowned. 

Iliad,  8;  555-565. 

As  when  the  stars  in  heaven,  about  the  moon  at  full 
Shine  forth  in  their  effulgence,  and  all  the  breezes  lull ; 


138 


And  crag  and  peak  and  hollow  stand  out  before  the 

eye, 

And  all  the  endless  heaven  is  cloven  from  on  high, 
And  every  star  appears,  and  the  herdman's  heart  is 

light ; 

So  blazed  along  the  Xanthus  the  Trojan  fires  at  night, 
Between  the  ships  and  river,  with  Ilium  in  sight. 
A  thousand  fires  were  kindled    upon  the  plain  below, 
By  every  fire  sat  fifty  within  the  ruddy  glow. 
Beside  their  cars  the  horses  stood  and  champed  their 

corn 
And  snow-white  barley,  waiting  the  golden  throned 

Morn. 

The  visit  of  Hermes  to  the  grot  of  Calypso.     Odyssey,  5;  55-74. 

But  when  he  neared  the  island,  which  far  in  ocean  lay, 
There,  from  the  dark-blue  deep,  landward  he  bent  his 

way ; 

Until  he  reached  a  cavern,   within  whose  lofty  dome 
A  fair-haired  nymph  was  dwelling,    whom  there  he 

found  at  home. 
A  fire  burned  on  the  hearth-stone,  and  far  the  fragrant 

seen  t 

Of  cedar  cleft,  and  sandal,  along  the  island  went  ; 
As  bright  they  blazed  ;  within-doors,  and  singing  clear 

and  sweet, 

She  wove  her  web  unwearied,  with  golden  shuttle  fleet. 
Around  the  rocky  cavern  a  clustering  forest  stood, 
Of    alder  trees    and    poplars,    with   fragrant    cypress 

wood  ; 
Within  whose  branches  nested  the  wild-birds  broad 

of  wing, 


139 


Owls  and  hawks,  and  sea-crows  forever  chattering, 
That  ply  upon  the  waters  their  daily  tasks.      Here  too 
Above  the  hollow  cavern  a  thrifty  vine  upgrew, 
Luxuriant  with  clusters  beneath  its  cooling  green. 
Four  springs  that  flowed  together,    with  water  swift 

and  sheen, 
Hither  and  thither  wandered  with  many  a  gleam  and 

and  gloom. 
On  either  hand  broad  meadows  basked  in  the  fragrant 

bloom 

Of  violet  and  parsley.      Well  an  immortal  had 
Beheld  the  scene  with  wonder  and  in  his  heart  been 

glad. 

IMITATIVE    LINES. 
Iliad,  I  ;  33-34. 

So  he  spake,  and  the  elder,  fearing,  said  no  more, 
But  went  his  way  in  sorrow  by  the  loud  resounding 
shore. 

Iliad,  i  ;  49-50. 

Dire  a  clang  gave  the  silver,   arrowy  noy  o'  the  joy 
O'    first  the  mules  for  burden,   and    hounds  for  the 
hunts'  employ. 


140 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  VERGIL. 

/Eneid,  I  ;  1-7. 

OF  arms  and  the  man  I  sing,  from  Trojan  coasts  that, 

of  yore, 

To  Italy,  fate-driven,  and  the  Lavinian  shore, 
Came,  after  many  tossings  o'er  lands  and  on  the  deep, 
By  power  of  the  gods,   for  Juno's  wrath  that  would 

not  sleep ; 
And  war-toils  bore   he  many  to  found  him  there  a 

home, 
And  bring  his  gods  to  Latium  :   the  Latin  folk  thence 

come, 
And  thence  the  Alban    fathers,  and    walls  of    lofty 

Rome. 

./Eneid,  4;  700-705. 

Therefore  dewy  Iris,    on  saffron    wings  through  the 

skies, 

Trailing  athwart  the  sunlight  a  thousand  various  dyes, 
Downward  flew,  and.  standing  above  her  head,  quoth 

she: 
"This  lock  to  Dis  I  carry,  and  thee  from  earth  set 

free." 
So  spake,  and  with  her  right  hand  she  cut  the  tress ; 

anon 
Both    warmth  and    life   departed   and    to  the  winds 

were  gone. 


141 


GERMAN   LOVE   SONG   OF   THE   TWELFTH 
CENTURY. 

Du  bist  min,  ich  bin  din  : 
Des  solt  du  gewiss  sin. 

Du  bist  beslozzen 

In  minem  herzen : 
Verlorn  ist  daz  sliizzelin  : 
Du  muost  immer  drinne  sin. 

Thou  art  mine,  I  am  thine  ; 
Thereof  shalt  thou  doubt  resign. 

Locked  thou  art 

In  my  heart, 
Lost  is  the  keyikin  ; 
There  must  thou  ever  bin. 


THE  LANDLADY'S  DAUGHTER. 

From  the  German  of  Uhland. 
THERE  came  three  comrades  over  the  Rhine  ; 
At  a  goodly  tavern  they  turned  them  in. 

"  O  mistress,  hast  thou  good  beer  and  wine, 
And  where  is  that  fair  young  daughter  of  thine?  " 

"  My  beer  and  wine  are  fresh  and  clear, 
My  daughter  lies  on  her  burial  bier." 

And  when  they  entered  the  silent  room, 
In  a  coffin  of  black  she  lay  in  the  gloom. 


142 


The  first,  he  drew  the  veil  away, 

And  mournfully  gazed  on  the  lifeless  clay. 

"  Oh  !  wert  thou  yet  living  upon  the  earth, 

Sweet  maid,  I  would  love  thee  from  this  time  forth. 

The  second  covered  the  face  that  slept, 
And  turned  away  from  the  sight,  and  wept. 

"  Alas  !  thou  art  lying  upon  thy  bier, 
And  I  have  loved  thee  so  many  a  year  !  " 

The  third  one  lifted  the  veil  anon, 
And  kissed  her  upon  her  mouth  so  wan. 

"  I  loved  thee  ever,  I  love  thee  today, 
And  I  will  love  thee  for  ever  and  aye  !  " 


PERSISTENCE. 

From  the  Swedish  of  Runeberg. 
Ax  a  maiden's  window  stood  a  young  man. 
Three  livelong  evenings  in  succession, 
Knocking  and  beseeching  for  admittance. 
On  the  first  night  he  got  threats  and  scolding, 
On  the  second,  parley  and  entreaties, 
On  the  third  he  got  the  window  opened. 

2ist  July,  1887. 


143 


THE  GAUNTLET. 

(A  gorge  in  northern  Maine.) 

A  BATTLE-GROUND  where  gods  and  fiends  made  war.' 
In  the  old  days  of  mystery  and  night, 
Gouged  out  with  trampling  of  the  furious  fight, 
And  strown  with  hill-tops  hurled  down  from  afar, 

The  battle's  hasty  weapons  ;  a  deep  scar 

Upon  the  brow  of  this  fair  land  bedight 
With  summer's  beauty  ;  oh  !  it  is  a  sight, 
First  among  those  that  unforgotten  are. 

But  earth  is  kind,  for  now,  with  foaming  brink, 

A  swift  stream  sweeps  the  glen,  striving  for  aye 
To  wash  the  war-stains  off;  each  rift  and  chink 

Blue,  matted  berries  cover  from  the  day  ; — 

Only,  by  night,   the  weeting,   white  stars  shrink, 
Above  the  pines,  measurelessly  away. 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE. 

(Memorial  tablet  at  Colby  University.) 

MOTIONLESS  sufferer,  rigid  with  the  thrill 

Of  thine  immortal  anguish  !   Looking  on  thee, 
Thy  dauntless  eye's  slow  glazing  I  can  see, 
And  hear  therewith  the  thickening  life  blood  spill 

Out  of  that  mighty  heart  fast  waxing  still ; 
While  on  thy  brow  is  knit  indelibly 
The  overmastering  might  of  agony 
In  wrestle  with  the  everlasting  will. 


144 


O  mother  land  !  The  swift  years  come  and  go, 
But  nevermorethe  glad  sun's  light  again 
Shall  look  on  these  whose  names  are  writ  below  ; 

And  yet,  as  sweet  to  them  were  sun  and  rain, 

The  west  wind  blithe,  as  unto  us,  whose  gain 
And  glory  is,  that  they  have  suffered  so. 


JOAQUIN  MILLER'S  SONGS  OF  THE 
SIERRAS. 

HOT-BLOODED  bard,  whose  dizzy,  leaping  thought 
Sometimes  will  blind  the  eye  that  guides  the  hand; 
Poet  of  passion,  thou,  at  whose  command, 
The  hands  clench  and  the  cheeks  are  fever-fraught, 

Or  swift  tears  rush  into  the  eyes  unsought ; 
I  hear  thy  singing  from  a  foreign  strand, 
And,  listening,  feel  my  landscape's  walls  expand, 
And  thank  thee  for  the  visions  thou  hast  brought. 

For,  as  I  read  thy  book,  before  me  blow 

Black  western  pines  bent  by  the  mountain  breeze ; 
Smoke-shrouded  prairies,  hot  and  wrathful,  flow 

In  crackling  floods,  beneath  white  hills  that  freeze ; 
Gray  canyons  gloom,  and,  on  a  sudden,  lo  ! 
The  twittering  sheen  of  twinkling  tropic  seas. 


145 


ILIONEUS. 

(A  cast  in  the  Boston  Art  Museum.) 

POOR  plaster  manikin,  with  scarce  enough 
Of  shape  to  show  they  meant  thee  for  a  man, 
Head,  arms,  feet  gone  !  but  yet,  methinks  I  can, 
With  thee  before  me,  see  the  onset  rough 

Of  god  and  goddess  wroth,  the  stern  rebuff 
Of  hands  that  prayed  and  afterwards  began 
As  they  would  fend  those  arrows,  which  outran 
Thy  fear-stayed  flight  with  fell  and  sleety  sough. 

Alas  for  thee  !  even  for  thy  beauty's  sake, 
Which  in  thy  mother  waked  that  fatal  pride 
That  doomed  thee  and  thy  brethren  swift  to  fall. 

O  hapless,  having  beauty,  not  to  take 

Strength  corresponding  !   Thou  proclaimest  wide 
"  Rival  the  gods  in  nothing  or  in  all." 


PHOSPHOR. 
To  F.  S.  II. 

O  LOVER  of  the  beautiful  and  true, 

O  son  of  Hellas  and  the  Orient,  thou, 

With  eyes  of  star-lit  midnight,  and  with  brow 

Of  morning ;  thou  art  taken  from  my  view, 

And  half  my  life  has  vanished  with  thee  too. 
The  voices  of  the  wood  and  river  now 
Sound  strange  unto  me,  and,  I  know  not  how, 
All  things  deserted  seem,  the  landscape  through. 


146 


I  watch  the  Morning  brush  her  darkling  hair 

From  her  bright  face,  and  then  I  think  of  thee, 
Who  art  beneath  the  sunrise,  and,  in  prayer, 

I  look  to  Him  that  wept  at  Bethany 

From  human  friendship,  seeking  that  His  care 
Around  thee  and  thine  own  may  constant  be. 


HESPER. 

To  Emily. 

LIKE  a  spent  bullet  to  the  target's  rim, 

The  sun  drops  down  into  the  west ;  and  soon, 
With  brandished  scimitar,  the  crescent  moon 
Wrests  the  horizon's  treasured  gold  from  him. 

A  lighted  taper  on  the  pine's  dark  limb, 

The  star  of  evening  hangs  ;  with  velvet  shoon, 

And  trailing  robe  of  sable,  star  bestrewn, 

The  night  glides  onward,  fragrant,  vaporous,  dim. 

Sweet  Hesper,  far-off  friend,  around  whose  head 
The  happy  beams  of  sunlight  linger  yet, 
My  thoughts,  flown  westward  with  the  day  that  fled, 

Would  fain  seek  heaven  and  the  promise  get, 
That  thus  shall  life  its  light  around  thee  shed, 
When  long  for  me  its  latest  ray  has  set. 


PRICELESS. 
LOVE  cannot  be  bought, 

Neither  hath  it  price; 
It  seeks  not,  and  is  given  unsought, 

A  glad  self-sacrifice. 


147 

MY  WORSHIP. 

A  TEMPLE  that  was  not  made  with  hands, 
Roofed  by  the  sky,  and  floored  by  the  sands  ; 
Upon  whose  wave-worn  altar-stone, 
An  awful  white,  the  great  sun  shone ; 
Wherein  all  day  the  boughs  that  swang, 
Of  the  mild-heart  Christ  an  anthem  sang, 
And  a  sermon  sounded,  grand  and  sweet, 
In  the  ocean's  multitudinous  beat, 
And  the  white  wings,  flashing  athwart  the  air, 
Were  the  rippling  robes  of  the  Angel  of  Prayer, 
And  the  moon  that  rose  from  the  ocean's  breast, 
Was  the  outstretched  hand  of  God  that  blest ; — 
Such  is  the  spot  from  the  world  away, 
Where  I  have  worshipped  my  God  to-day. 


SONG-BIRTH. 

BEYOND  the  bench's  trodden  slope  of  sand, 
Down  past  the  frothy,  shifting  water-line^ 
Deep  underneath  some  fathoms  of  the  brine, 
A  crystal  spring  rolls  up  sweet  waters,  bland, 

Fresh  amid  all  the  saltness  of  the  strand. 
No  ebb-tide  ever  lets  the  sunlight  shine 
I'nblurred  upon  it,  and  around  it  twine 
Dark,  slimy  weeds  by  west-wind  never  fanned. 

So  in  the  poet's  heart,  amid  the  gross 

And  brackish  bitterness  of  earthly  tides, 


148 


The  well-spring  pure  of  song  forever  flows, 
Sweetening  all  wherethrough  it  mingling  glides  ; 

For,  though  its  life  streams  up  through  sunless 

woes, 
Its  birth  was  on  the  hills  where  light  abides. 


MILTON. 

IT  was  the  fair,  white  season  of  first  snow, 
When  Milton,  bard  of  purity,  was  born, 
When,  like  a  snow-flake  through  the  sky  of  morn, 
His  soul,  descending,  caught  the  sunrise  glow, 

And,  flushed  with  beauty,  reached  the  earth  below. 
There  clad  in  flesh,  whose  features  yet  adorn 
The  halls  of  art,  it  dwelt  till,  toil-worn, 
It  sought  again  the  skies  it  erst  did  know. 

O  Milton,  thou  hast  only  half  thy  praise 

In  having  lowered  the  heavens  within  man's  ken  : 
Thine  other,  equal  labor  was  to  raise 

The  human  spirit  up  to  heaven  again  ; 

So,  underneath  thy  forehead's  aureole  blaze, 
Thine  awful  eyes  are  mild  with  love  to  men. 


UNCONSCIOUS  BEAUTY. 

THE  rose  knows  not  that  it  is  fair; 

It  only  knows, 

Wheree'er  it  grows, 
AH  creatures  are  the  happiest  there, 


149 


MY  GALAHAD. 

' '  GOD  make  thee  good  as  thou  art  fair ;  ' '  thuswise 
Was  Galahad  the  beautiful  made  knight ; 
And  riding  forth,  begirt  with  Christ's  own  might, 
He  smote  the  proud  and  made  the  lowly  rise. 

Such  favor  found  he  in  his  Master's  eyes, 
That  ever  went  before  him  day  and  night 
The  Holy  Vessel, 'and  its  heavenward  flight 
Was  at  his  own  departure  to  the  skies. 

God  make  thee  good  as  thou  art  fair,  my  friend, 
As  loving"  as  thou  love-enkindling  art, 
As  bold  as  thou  art  brave,  make  thy  life's  end 

To  right  the  wronged  and  bind  the  broken  heart, 
And  once  more  shall  the  Holy  Grail  descend 
To  dwell  with  men,  till  thou  like  him  depart. 


THE  TOWN  CLOCK. 

DAY  after  day,  above  the  market-place, 

Thou  standest  looking  on  the  throng  below  ; 
Night  after  night,  above  thee,  still  and  slow, 
The  bannered  constellations  westward  pace. 

By  day,  thou  dealest  with  the  insect  race 

Of  men,  that  come  and  look  on  thee  and  go  ; 
By  night,  the  dark  hours  from  thy  bosom  flow 
To  mingle  with  eternity  and  space. 

The  spire  above  thee  rears  its  masonry, 


150 


As  if  its  thin  shaft  were  a  monument 
Over  the  wasted  moments  that  must  lie 
Within  thy  chamber,  evermore  unspent ; 

And  still  thy  flaming  finger  writes  on  high 
The  hurried  summons  of  each  moment  sent. 


A  SUMMER'S  DAY. 

UP  from  the  east  came  the  sun,  and  a  wind  from  the 

west  came  to  meet  him  ; 
All  day  long,  over  fields  of  bloom,  blew  the  wind  to 

the  eastward, 
All  day  long  rode  the  sun  through  sapphire  skies  to 

the  westward  ; 
Then  came  the  evening  calm,  and  the  wind  dropped 

into  the  ocean  ; 
Then  came  the  evening  dim,  and  the  sun  sank  over 

the  mountains. 


JOHN  BROWN. 

THE  sea-bound  landsman,  looking  back  to  shore, 
Now  learns  what  land  is  highest ; — not  the  ring 
Of  hills  that  erewhile  shut  out  everything 
Beyond  them  from  him  ;  these  are  seen  no  more  ; 

Nor  yet  the  loftier  heights  that,  from  the  lower, 


151 


He  saw  far  inland,  blue,  and,  worshipping, 
Believed  they  touched  the  sky;  the  gull's  white  wing 
Long  since  flashed  o'er  them  sunk  in  the  sea-floor. 

These  were  but  uplands  hiding  the  true  height, 
Which  looms  above  them  as  they  sink,  and  rears 
Its  greatness  ever  greater  on  the  sight. 

So  thou,  beyond  the  widening  sea  of  years, 
Aye  risest  great,  while  ever  low  and  slight 
They  wane  that  smote  and  slew  thee  in  their  fears. 


BY  THE  SEA. 
To  F.  H.  B. 

DEAREST,  I  thought  to-day  if  I  might  win 

A  name,  and  then  should  die,  and  thou  abide, 
Rich  with  that  beauty  which  is  glorified 
By  something  more  than  beautiful  within  ; 

And  men  should  read  my  book,  and  see  therein 
How  dearly  thou  wast  loved  of  him  that  died, 
And  haply  they  should  speak  it,  to  thy  pride, 
How  sweet  this  were !  but  stranger  things  have  been. 

O  Love,  the  sea  is  creeping  up  the  beach, 
The  buttercups  and  daisies  breathe  on  me 
Their  meadow-fragrance,  while  they  mingle  each 

Its  sweetness  with  the  brine-breath  of  the  sea. 

Dear  girl,  what  dream  was  that  I  sighed  to  reach  ? 
No  recompense  for  love  save  love  can  be. 


152 


RUS  IVIT. 

In  memory  of  Eliza  P.  Austin. 

SHE'S  gone  into  the  country ; — so  it  is 

We  see  her  not,  nor  hear  her  when  we  call, 

Nor  ever  on  our  ears  her  accents  fall, 

But  heart  and  home  her  gracious  presence  miss. 

She's  gone  into  the  country  ;  out  of  this 

Dark  city  of  Earth,  where  sights  and  sounds  appal, 
Rush,  roar  and  strife  and  tears,  and,  over  all, 
The  smoke  that  shuts  out  the  eternities. 

But  in  that  country,  ah  !   that  heavenly  one, 

What  light  and  fragrance !  What  melodious  breath . 
What  clasping  of  dear  hands,  reunion  sweet 

Of  loves  un faded  !   What  new  joys  begun, — 
Haply  to  stray  with  sweet  Elizabeth, 
Or  sit,  like  Mary,  at  her  Master's  feet  ! 

20th  Nov.,  1886. 


UNA  SANCTARUM. 

IN  holier  ages  men  had  called  thee  saint ; 

Through  thee  the  blind  had  been  restored  to  sight, 
Thy  name  pale  lips  had  whispered  day  and  night, 
In  lonely  cell,  chapel  or  cloister  quaint ; 

Thy  meekness  Raphael  had  aspired  to  paint, 
And  Dante  had  beheld  thee  in  the  light 
That  nearest  shines  to  the  ineffable  bright, 
Where  purest  souls  see  God  without  restraint; 


153 


And,  born  untimely  to  our  evil  days, 

Still  hast  thou  kept  thy  sainthood  and  its  powers, 
Thou  so\vest  heart's-ease  by  life's  stony  ways, 

Thou  bringest  morn  where  midnight  blackness  lowers, 
And  on  thy  heavenly  forehead  fall  the  rays 
That  wrap  thee  with  another  day  than  ours. 


DAYSPRING. 

WIDE  o'er  the  country  the  morning  is  breaking, 
Over  the  green  world,  under  the  blue ; 

The  skirts  of  the  west-wind  the  dew-drops  are  shaking 
From  leaf-tip  and  bough-tip,    the  wide  woodland 
through. 

The  bright  bobolink,  in  a  bower  of  blossoms, 
Is  scattering  music  as  liquid  and  bright 

As  the  diamond  drops,  from  the  fragrant  bosoms 
Of  spruce  and  of  hemlock,  swept  into  light ; 

And  I  know  not  what  of  the  four  be  sweetest : 
The  odorous  orchard's  blushing  white, 

The  bubbling  trill  wherewith  thou  greetest, 
Blithe  bobolink,  the  awakened  light. 

The  brindle  dawn  over  miles  of  meadow, 
Far-flashed  from  the  western  hill-tops  dun, 

Or  the  dazzling  dew  that  leaps  from  the  shadow 
Into  the  outstretched  arms  of  the  sun. 


154 

OUTSHONE. 

A  NAME  how  fair !     Who  ever  dreamed 

A  face  could  yet  be  fairer  ? 
A  name  how  ugly  !     So  I  deemed, 

When  once  I  saw  its  wearer. 

Her  beauty  kindles  with  a  glow 
No  dawn  e'er  caught ;  and  yet, 

When  once  her  heart  and  mind  you  know, 
Her  beauty  you  forget. 


POTENCIES. 

THE  shepherd's  crook, 
The  fisher's  hook 
Are  stronger  far 
Than  armies  are ; 
The  student's  book, 
The  dreamer's  nook, 
The  maiden's  look 
Oft  make  or  mar 
Wider  than  war. 


THE  CONSTITUTION. 

OUR  frigate's  high  renown 

Shall  stem  the  tide  of  death, 

When  her  stars  have  drifted  back  to  the  sky, 
And  her  brazen  lips  are  a  breath. 


155 

O  HEART,  AND  MUST  I  SING  TO  THEE? 

O  HEART,  and  must  I  sing  to  thee, 

And  may  not  tell  thee  nay? 
For  still  them  askest  song  of  me 

And  wilt  not  go  thy  way. 

What  biddest  thou  ?  to  sing  of  love, 

Or  yet  of  woe  to  sing? 
To  tell  how  all  below,  above, 

I  greet  with  welcoming  ; 

And  how  I  love  the  sea  and  land, 

The  hill-tops  and  the  sky, 
The  sunset  on  the  foam-frilled  strand, 

The  trailing  stars  on  high  ; 

The  glorious  challenge  of  the  storm, 

The  driving  rain's  caress, 
The  air  upholder!  snow-fiake's  warm 

Infolding  tenderness; 

And  how  I  love  the  darling  few, 
My  friends,  who  hold  me  dear, 

The  distant  whom  of  old  I  knew, 
And,  later  loved,  the  near  ? 

O  heart,  so  rich  in  loving  so, 

Let  this  be  then  thy  strain. 
Sad  heart,  thou  beatest  low, 

And  I  must  sing  of  pain. 


156 


TO  PRINCESS  EYEBRIGHT  IN  THE 
CATSKILLS. 

(With  a  copy  of  Idun.) 

A  star-like  shadow  gems  the  mountain's  brow, 
Slow-twirling,  swung  beneath  the  marble  cloud, 
Above  the  misty  ledges.     Stair  by  stair, 
The  great  pines  climb  into  its  cooling  shade  ; 
The  dales  draw  down  the  blue  dusk  far  within  them, 
The  sharp  crags  fold  it  tightly  to  their  bosoms, 
While  all  the  wide,  bright  valley  upward  yearns, 
Lured  to  those  fair,  far,  azure  heights  that  beckon. 
Below,  the  thick-leaved  poplars  droop  with  dust, 
But,  on  the  heights,  the  star,  become  a  crown, 
Lingers  a  moment  on  the  sharpest  peak, 
Then  sinks  beyond,  and  all  the  mountain  lies 
Wrapped  in  the  wavering  blue  of  airy  distance. 

O  darling  child,  whose  angel,  woman  face 

These  ten  sweet   years  hath -robbed  the  mountain's 

beauty, 

Until  thine  eyes  are  bluer  than  its  dales, 
Thy  locks  have  shorn  the  sunset,  and  thy  voice, 
From  heights  of  being  that  o'ertop  the  hills, 
Comes  down  to  us  and  fills  our  lives  with  music ; 
Thou  bringest  love  and  light  and  melody 
Into  my  life ;  I  bring  thee  here  a  song. 


*  IDUN  * 


-OR— 


THE  MEETING  WAYS. 


THE  WEBSTER  WOVE  IN  HIS  WEAVING  THE  WEFT  OF  AN  ELFIN 
TIME, 

WITH  THREADS  OF  THOUGHT  AND  PASSION  AND  THE  SHUTTLE- 
WORK  OF  RHYME. 


CHARACTERS  IN  THE  PLAY. 


MAGNE,  a  king. 

GUNLAD,  his  queen. 

IDUN  (pronounced  E/-doon),  their  daughter. 

HERMOD,  a  prince. 

HYNDLA,  a  fairy. 

GRENDEL,  a  witch. 

EARLS. 

Lords,  ladies  and  attendants. 


159 


FORE-SCENE. 

The  witch  GRENDKI.,  sitting  before  her  cave,  writes  on  a 
leaf,  then  tears  it  in  two  and  throws  the  halves  to  the  winds. 

GRF.NDEL. 
Off!  'tis  Grendel  bids  you  fly, 

Sunder  hearts  by  heaven  united  ; 
Haste,  hie  !  for  where  ye  lie, 

Hearts  shall  break  and  hopes  be  blighted. 


ACT  I. 


KING  MAGNE  on  his  throne,  his  queen  beside  him  ;  before 

them  a  cradle,  eourtiers  standing  about. 

KING. 

The  moon  that  made  our  daughter's  birth 
Behest  of  harvest  unto  earth, 
Again  has  thrust  into  the  night 
Its  shining  sickle  silver-white; 
And  now  the  merry  morn  again 
Has  waked  the  birds  of  wood  and  plain, 
And  with  the  music  and  the  light, 
Blithe  heralds  of  a  life  as  bright, 
We  wait  the  blessing  on  our  child 
Of  her  that  dwells  by  stream  and  wild. 

A    delicate    rainbow-flush      Ills    the    room,    and   the    fairy 
HYNDLA  enters. 

Dread  princess, — 


160 
HYNDLA. 

Thou  hast  sought  me,  king. 
What  is  thy  prayer  ?     No  idle  thing, 
I  trust,  else  dread  upon  thy  land 
The  wrath  of  my  unpitying  hand. 
Drought  shall  parch  thy  fields  to  rock, 
Famine  wither  drove  and  flock  ; 
Want  shall  rage,  till  thou  requite 
Hyndla  for  thy  mortal  slight. 
Thou  tremblest ;  name  thy  prayer. 

KING. 

Most  dread. 

Who  rulest  cloud  and  fountain-head, 
No  idle  wish  impels  my  prayer, 
Nor  rashly  nor  unmeet  I  dare 
To  crave  thy  grace.     What  other  shrine 
Stands  heaped  within  this  land  as  thine  ? 
Nor  ever  did  my  folk  refuse 
To  pay  thee  thank  of  yearly  dues. 
Therefore  I  beg  thou  wilt  not  scorn 
To  bless  my  daughter  eldest  born. 

HYNDLA. 

Happy  the  land  whose  joy  shall  be 
To  shield  itself  by  honoring  me ; 
Happy  thou,  when  breaking  day 
Hailed  thee  father  with  its  ray  ; 
Happier  the  coming  years,  which  beam 
With  joys  that  pale  the  present's  dream  ; 
And  happiest  thou,  sweet  maid,  of  all, 
Thou  whom  men  shall  Idun  call, 


161 


On  whose  sleeping  brow  I  set, 
Like  jewels  in  life's  coronet, 
Beauty,  truth  and  gentleness,  • 
Love  that  lightens  but  to  bless, 
Loftiest  thought  and  lowliest  mood, 
Dwelling  in  sweet  sisterhood, 
Woman -heart  of  sacrifice, 
Woman-soul  to  strive  and  rise, 
Woman-strength  to  lift  and  stay. 
Strongest  in  the  weariest  day. 
Sunshine  of  the  home  art  thou, 
Such  the  jewels  on  thy  brow, 
But  the  brightest  gem  shall  be 
Thy  maiden  modesty. 

Here  a  torn  leaf  flutters  through  the  open  window  and 
alights  upon  the  baity1  s  forehead.  The  fairy,  startled,  picks 
it  up  and  reads  : 

"  Only  seeking  mayest  thou  wed." 

The  queen  shrieks,  the  king  staggers  back. 

KING. 
Speak  what  mean  these  words  of  dread  ? 

HYNDLA. 

Their  meaning  all  too  plainly  runs  ; 
Woe  is  me  my  benisons  ! 
She  that  I  decreed  so  meek 
Must  not  wed  until  she  seek  ; 
Seek  she  cannot,  for,  alack  ! 
Elfin  gifts  return  not  back. 

KING. 

Name  to  me  the  evil  doer ; 
Force  shall  wring  redress  and  cure. 


162 

HYNDLA. 

Peace!     No  mortal  here  hath  wrought, 
This  despite  hath  Grendel  sought, 
Foulest  witch  of  those  that  dwell 
By  the  steaming  mouth  of  hell, 
Whose  prevailing  word,  once  spoken, 
Never  may  be  crossed  or  broken  ; 
But  obedience  oft  may  shun 
What  with  strife  must  still  be  done  ; 
And  the  seasons  that  await 
Much  may  hold  of  kindlier  fate. 
This  be  then  thy  hope ;  thou  hast 
Hyndla's  friendship  true  and  fast, 
And  with  fearless  eye  behold 
Future  days  and  years  unfold. 


ACT   II. 


Twenty  years  later.  A  wood.  In  the  background  a  thicket 
with  two  paths  joining  in  front  of  it.  HERMOD  and  his 
earls,  riding  out  to  hunt,  meet  IDUN  surrounded  by  her 
maids  and  at f em/ants.  Her  party  has  entered  at  the  right. 
HERMOD  and  his  party  come  in  at  the  left. 

EARLS. 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  well  said,  my  lord  ! 


1(53 


HERMOD  catches  sight  of  IDUN,  and  a  look  of  delighted 
wonder  leaps  into  his  face,  as  if  a  new  world  had  flashed 
upon  him.  The  Aw  parlies  ride  slowly  by  each  other, 
HERMOD  staring  at  I  DUN,  and  she  meeting  his  look  with  a 
rapt  gaze  of  glad  self-surrender.  As  soon  as  the  earls  notice 
HER  MOD'S  look,  the  eldest  tries  to  withdraw  his  attention. 
ist  EARL. 

I'  faith,  my  liege,  a  lightsome  word. 

I  do  recall  a  merry  tale: 

A  king,  whose  sight  began  to  fail, 

Would  have  new  eyes.     He  bids  men  call 

His  leeches,  craftsmen,  clerks  and  all; 

Then  states  his  want,  a  pair  of  eyes ; 

The  same  he  bids  their  skill  devise. — 

HERMOD /(7iv  no  heed  to  the  earl,  except  to  repel  him  with 
gestures,  but  keeps  his  eves  still  fixed  upon  IDUN,  until  she 
is  hidden  from  him  by  the  trees  ;  when  he  recovers  himself 
with  a  start,  and  at  the  last  word  they  ride  off. 


ACT  III. 


Night.   Courtyard  of  a  castle.   HERMOD,  in  hunting  costume, 
comes  forward. 

HERMOD. 

Still  darkness  !     Will  it  ne'er  be  day? 
How  slowly  drags  the  night  away  ! 
Ah  !  many  a  morn  the  hunt's  delight 
Has  drawn  me  forth  ere  fled  the  night, 


164 


But  now  I  seek  a  nobler  chase. 

How  paltry,  trivial,  mean  and  base 

Now  seem  the  sports  that  thrilled  my  blood, 

Ere  that  blest  meeting  in  the  wood  ! 

Four  days, — four  centuries, — have  crept, 

Since  o'er  my  soul  that  vision  swept, 

And  childhood  with  its  toys  has  fled ; 

Impetuous  manhood  comes  instead. 

In  all  the  wide,  waste  universe, 

But  two  souls  wander,  mine  and  hers ; 

Nor  all  the  rocky  steeps  that  rise, 

'Twixt  nether  ocean  and  the  skies, 

Shall  sunder  from  my  riven  soul 

That  sweeter  self  that  makes  it  whole. 

Deep  will  I  drink  of  bliss  to-day, 

Or  travel  far  that  shining  way. 

He  ivalks  about  absorbed  in  revery. 

But  why  that  strange  dislike  I  found 
To  seek  again  the  enchanted  ground  ? 
Scarce  with  threats  have  I  arrayed 
My  huntsmen  for  the  forest  glade, 
Who  vied  but  lately  to  fulfill 
The  lightest  whisper  of  my  will. 
Untaught  am  I  such  words  to  hear. 
But,  soft  !  I  mark  their  footsteps  near. 
I'll  list  unseen,  perchance  to  learn 
What  wrought  them  this  rebellious  turn. 

HEKMOD^WJ  out.     Earls,  in  hunting  costume,  enter, 
ist  EARL. 

Poor  lad  !  it's  found  him  out  at  last. 
No  wall  so  high,  no  door  so  fast, 


165 

No  shield  of  proof  so  stout  and  stark, 
But  love's  light  shaft  will  find  its  mark. 

2d  EARL. 

Ah  !   well  I  mind  me  of  the  day 
When  Hermod  in  his  cradle  lay, 
And  all  stood  round  with  hearts  aquake, 
What  time  the  fay  her  blessing  spake. 
Then,  at  the  last,  when  hearts  grew  light, 
That  fatal  leaf  of  curse  and  blight, 
Slow  fluttering  on  the  baby's  head: 
"  Unsought  mayest  thou  never  wed." 
And  then  the  shrieks,  the  groans,  the  tears; 
While  Hyndla,  helpless  to  their  prayers, 
Might  not  her  word  recall  again, 
That  made  him  manliest  of  men, 
Nor  might  she  bring  the  curse  to  naught, 
That  doomed  him  not  to  wed  unsought. 
But  this  'tis  willed  he  shall  not  know, 
Lest  knowledge  work  his  overthrow, 
Nor  must  he  love,  a  danger  worse, 
Lest  blind  he  rush  upon  the  curse. 
3d  EARL. 

Yet  now  he  loves,  and  ours  the  toil 
That  love  by  kindly  craft  to  spoil. 
But  lo  !  the  morn's  bright  spears  advance ; 
To  horse,  and  to  our  journey's  chance  ! 
Tkev  go  out.      HERMOD  rushes  fonvard. 
HERMOD. 

Have  I  been  dreaming?     Heaven  and  earth  ! 
Accursed  and  shadowed  from  my  birth  ! 


166 

Doomed  not  to  love  ?     No  !  bitterer  wreak, 

Doomed  to  love,  but  not  to  seek. 

Doom  !  overthrow  !  all  for  a  word 

The  meanest  hind  speaks  undeterred  ; 

For  nothing,  for  the  commonest  thing 

From  clouted  churl  to  sceptred  king. 

I  alone  must  hold  my  breath, 

And  love,  and  gnaw  my  heart  to  death  ! 

Nay,  may  accept !  as  if  my  heart 

Would  play  the  meeching  maiden's  part : 

As  if  my  soul  would  link  its  choice 

To  brazen  lips  and  bellowing  voice. 

And  if  I  speak,  what  then  the  doom  ? 

No  worse  than  dying.     Then,  death,  come  ! 

Better  breathe  out  my  soul  in  bliss 

In  one  first,  last,  death-welcoming  kiss, 

Than  live  a  hundred  years  of  sloth, 

Matched  with  a  being  that  I  loathe. 

My  huntsmen  call.     Come,  Furies  fell ; 

Your  shafts  may  slay  ;  they  cannot  quell. 

He  goes  out. 


167 

ACT  IV. 


A  room  in  KING  MAGNE'S  palace.     IDUN,  playing  on  her 
lute,  sings. 

IDUN. 

Droop  and  darken,  eyes  of  blue, 

Love  hath  only  tears  for  you. 

Love,  begone,  and  lightly  flee, 
Since  thy  smiles  are  not  for  me. 

Lips  of  scarlet,  quench  your  fire, 

Torches  vain- of  love's  desire. 

Love,  begone,  and  lightly  flee, 
Since  thy  sweets  are  not  for  me. 

Sink,  ye  swelling  breasts  of  snow, 

Baby  fingers  ne'er  to  know. 

Love,  begone,  and  lightly  flee, 
Since  thy  fruits  are  not  for  me. 

She  throws  aside  her  lute,  weeping.     After  a  time  speaks. 
IDUN. 

I  waste  the  night  in  tears ;  the  day, 
In  tears  and  heartache,  wears  away. 
Alas  !   how  changed  from  what  I  knew, 
Ere  love  into  my  bosom  flew, 
And  all  my  life's  long  curse  awoke, 
And  slew  my  joy  with  levin  stroke, 
And  life,  which  scaled  the  heavenly  wall, 
But  mounted  for  a  deadlier  fall. 
Out  o'er  the  shining  woods  I  look, 
Toward  that  blest  spot,  enchanted  nook, 


168 


Where  first  my  soul  knew  joy,  and  oh  ! 
Where  first  my  spirit  felt  its  \voe. 
Those  rocking  branches  welcome  wave  ; 
I  go,  perchance  some  pang  to  save, 
While  for  a  moment  I  regain 
The  joy  that  taught  me  all  my  pain. 

She  goes  out. 


ACT  V. 


A  wood.     Scene  as  before,  but  nearer.     HERMOD  conies   in 

at  the  left. 

HERMOD. 

Here  is  the  spot.     The  sky  is  blue ; 
The  warm  sun  sifts  these  branches  through, 
The  birds  make  music ;  all  is  here, 
But  all  is  desolate  and  drear. 
The  sun,  the  song,  the  heavenly  light 
With  her  that  fled  have  taken  flight. 
Blest  ground  whereon  her  feet  have  pressed  ! 
'Twere  sweet  even  now  to  sink  to  rest, 
Where  haply  o'er  my  lifeless  head 
Her  wandering  steps  might  sometimes  tread. 
Not  yet !     Come,  death,  but  not  till  I 
Have  drunk  love's  immortality. 


169 


Some  prompting  bids  me  haunt  this  ground  ; 
Yet  hence,  not  here,  must  she  be  found. 
Perchance  at  hand  the  pathway  lies 
That  bore  her  homeward  from  my  eyes. 

He  goes  out.      I  DUX  enters  at  the  right. 

IDUN. 

So  many  steps,  so  much  of  grief ! 
Remembered  joy  brings  small  relief. 
Oh  !  that  I,  a  peasant  maid, 
Might  meet  my  lover  unafraid, 
And  might  be  wooed  and  coyly  won. 

HERMOD  re-enters  at  the  left. 

HERMOD. 

Another  look  ere  I  have  done. 
Oh  !  death,  oh  !  bliss  a  churl  to  be, 
Who- welcomes  love  and  speaks  it  free  ! 

HERMOD  and  IDUN  draw  nearer  without  seeing  each  other. 

A  soft  rainbow-Jlush  steals  over  the  back  of  the  scene,  and 

HYNDLA  enters  behind  them. 

BOTH. 

Oh  !  happiest  the  humblest  lot, 
Where  fate  and  sorrow  enter  not, 
Nor  griefs  of  greatness  e'er  annoy, 
But  love  walks  hand  in  hand  with  joy. 
Oh  !  might  I  meet  my  love  as  he  (she), 
Whose  heart  leaps  out:    •'  I  love  but  thee  !  " 

At  the  last  words  they  rush  forward  and  meet  in  each  other's 
arms.  After  a  first  rapturous  embrace,  the  lovers  separate 
and  stare  at  cadi  other  bewildered.  HERMOD  gazes  bitterly 
at  I  DUN,  as  if  he  were  t lie  victim  of  a  delusion.  IDUN, 
distrusting  her  eves,  steals  up  to  HKRMOD  and  tests  his 
reality  by  a  kiss.  He  doubts  no  longer,  but  folds  her  to  /ris 


170 


bosom.      Then,  with  their  arms  about  each  other,  the  lovers 
turn  toward  the  fairy,  who  gives  them  her  blessing. 
HYNDLA. 

Now,  at  last,  the  ban  is  broken, 

She  that  could  not  speak  has  spoken, 

He  that  must  not  woo  has  sought. 

So  hath  love  deliverance  wrought. 

So  have  I  my  word  fulfilled, 

And  the  blessings  that  I  willed, 

While  the  joys  I  gave  of  yore, 

Fourfold  on  them  I  restore, 

Joys  that  every  pang  remove, 

And  the  crown  of  all  is  love, 


HUMOROUS 

POEMS. 


173 

THE  PIRATE  HORSE-CAR. 

IT  was  the  midnight  horse-cir, 

That  out  of  Boston  sped, 
To  Roxbury  town  it  took  its  way ; 
Ah  !  black  with  storms  had  been  that  day, 

But  worse  was  just  ahead. 

Ten  passengers  that  horse-car  held, 
And  two  were  children  small. 

Alack  the  day,  and  well-a-way, 
That  such  should  them  befall  ! 

But  truth's  my  tale,  I  must  not  fail 
To  tell,  to  tell  it  all. 

I.  Fitt  was  the  conductor's  name, 

U.  Bctt  the  driver  hight ; 
With  such  a  pair  in  charge  of  them, 

Men  had  no  thought  of  fright; 
They  had  no  fear, — but  wait  and  hear 

The  tale  that  I  shall  write. 

Yet  listen  first  and  learn  from  me 

What  sort  of  folk  they  were, 
That  braved  the  terrors  of  that  night, 

Full  early  to  occur : 
A  carpenter,  a  merchant  man, 

A  tailor  and  his  wife, 
A  clerk,  a  scholar  and  a  cook, 

A  butcher  with  a  knife, 
Two  children  small  :  and  these  were  all, 

That  rode  that  night  for  life. 
The  carpenter  held  in  his  hand 

A  saw-set  and  a  rule, 


174 

The  tailor  had  a  pair  of  shears, 

His  wife,  a  folding  stool, 
The  scholar  held  a  book,  the  clerk, 

A  pile  of  magazines, 
The  cook,  she  bore  a  mighty  bag, 

Whereon  was  printed,  "  Beans." 

You've  guessed  it  was  a  Friday  night ; 

And  midnight  was  the  hour, 
The  stars  were  hid,  the  lamps  were  dim, 

The  wind  had  lost  its  power. 
Blackness  was  over  all  the  earth, 

And  all  was  still,  save — Hark  ! 
What  nearing  roar  is  that  they  hear 

Behind  them  in  the  dark  ? 
A  clattering  and  a  grinding  noise, 

A  grating,  fearful  roar  ; 
At  dead  of  night  no  soul  of  them 

Had  heard  the  like  before. 

And,  while  they  wondered  at  the  sound, 

The  back  door  open  flew, 
And  in  the  scared  conductor  rushed, 

With  cheeks  of  ghastly  hue. 
"  It  is  the  awful  Pirate  Car!  " 

With  chattering  teeth  he  said, 
Then  fainted  flat  upon  the  mat, 

And  lay  as  he  were  dead. 

"  O  driver,  driver,  speed  thee  now," 

The  folk  all  cried  aghast, 
"  The  Pirate  Car,  the  Pirate  Car 

Is  gaining  on  us  fast ; 
So  spare  not  voice,  nor  whip,  nor  rein, 


175 

To  make  the  critters  go  !  " 
Then  all  rushed  backward  to  look  out 

And  eye  the  dreaded  foe. 
A  car  of  black,  too  well  it  showed, 

And  drawn  by  steeds  of  black. 
They  heard  the  sooty  driver  laugh, 

They  heard  his  whip-lash  crack, 
And,  looking  up,  they  saw,  above, 

One  red  lamp  burn  alone, 
While  under  it,  in  ghastly  white, 

A  skull  and  cross-bones  shone. 
All  else  was  dark,  but  in  the  car 

They  heard  the  smothered  cry 
Of  savage  lips  that  thirsted  blood, 

And  still  the  sound  drew  nigh. 
Then  turned  they  all  and  cried,  "  O  haste 

The  driver,  undismayed, 
Spoke  not  a  word,  but  up  and  down 

He  plied  the  limber  braid. 
Yet  on  the  Pirate  came,  and  soon 

The  children  both  had  fits, 
The  tailor  then  began  to  weep, 

The  scholar  lost  his  wits, 
The  merchant  took  his  wallet  out, 

And  threw  his  cash  away, 
The  women  screeched,  the  butcher  swore, 

The  clerk  began  to  pray. 
The  driver  hollaed  from  the  front, 

"  Five  minutes,  and  we're  safe  !  " 
But  nigh  the  pirate  team  had  come, 

They  heard  its  gearing  chafe. 


176 

Then  rose  the  doughty  carpenter, 

And  clutched  a  strap  o'erhead, 
A  lusty  man  was  he  and  strong, 

These  were  the  words  he  said  : 
"  I  see  a  way  to  save  us  all, 

The  beans  upon  that  seat, 
We  throw  'em  out  upon  the  track, 

Their  horses  stop  to  eat, 
But  we  keep  on." — The  passengers 

Now  all  began  to  cheer, 
Then  turned  toward  the  cook  and  cried, 

"  The  beans,  oh  !  give  'em  here." 
"  Alas,  alas  !  "  the  cook  replied, 

•'  The  beans  t  may  not  spare  ; 
They  are  for  breakfast  Sunday  morn, 

And  who  of  us  wou^d  dare, 
On  Sunday  morn,  to  miss  that  rite, 

Which  over  all  the  land, 
From  Caribou  to  Danbury, 

Is  held  the  first  command  ?  " 
Then  all,  with  horror-stricken  eyes, 

Forbore  to  touch  the  fruit, — 
Oh,  fruit  of  transcendental  power, 

So  cosmic  in  repute  ! — 
And  in  the  hush  they  heard  outside 

The  Pirate's  grim  salute  : 
"  Ho  !  car  ahoy,  down  brakes,  hard  down, 

Heave  to,  ana  take  in  sail !  " 
And  then  the  pirate  team  they  heard 

Cribbing  the  hinder  rail. 
But,  while  they  listened,  through  the  car 

The  driver  darted  past, 


177 

And  in  a  trice  unto  the  rail 

The  pirate  span  made  fast; 
Then,  stepping  over  on  their  backs, 

Unshipped  the  whiffle-tree, 
Before  the  pirate  driver  guessed 

What  might  his  purpose  be. 
Then  he  leaped  back  and  grabbed  his  reins  : 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  we're  saved  !  " 
But  fierce  and  loud  the  pirate  crew 

In  baffled  fury  raved. 
For  well  they  knew  'twas  past  their  power 

To  work  the  others  woe, 
And  loud  the  rescued  passengers 

Taunted  the  vanquished  foe. 

All  safely,  in  two  minutes  more, 

They  reached  their  stopping  place, 
Then  all  stepped  out  with  lightsome  hearts, 

And  went  their  several  ways. 
The  Pirate  Car  was  seen  no  more  ; 

The  captured  pirate  team 
The  company  kept  (in  harness)  till 

The  owner  should  redeem  ; 
A  thing  the  owner  never  did, 

Strange  as  the  fact  may  seem. 
The  dauntless  driver,  who  had  proved 

So  faithful  in  the  strife, 
They  made,  as  I  have  since  been  told, 

An  overseer  for  life 
And  now  my  tale  has  reached  an  end, 

To  your  regret,  I  wis  ; 
May  all  the  saints  preserve  us  from 

A  Pirate  Car  like  this  ! 


178 

PANCAKES. 

PANCAKES,  flapjacks,  slapjacks,  griddle-cakes, 

no-matters,  fritters, 
All  are  names  for  the  same  delicious  compound 

of  buckwheat ; 
Though,  as  to  that,  the  kind  of  the  flour  is  not  so 

essential, 
Buckwheat  being  the  best,  but  excellent  cakes 

being  made  of 
Oat,  rye,  Indian,  wheat,  the  last  either  fine  or 

unbolted. 
Two  points  only  are  needful :  the  first  that  the 

cakes  be  served  piping 
Hot,  and  next  that  you  eat  them  anointed  with 

butter  and  syrup. 
Try  it  once  if  you  havn't,  and  sit  in  distended 

digestion, 
After  the  gorgeous  repast,  as  I  am  sitting  this 

moment, 
Sit  and  thank  your  stars  that  frying  pans  were 

invented, 
Eke  for  the  gift  of  the  blooming  buckwheat  and 

sweet-blooded  maples ; 
Last,  but  not  least,  for  the  golden  butter, 

clovery-fragrant. 
Thus,  benighted  beneath  the  beams  of  the 

scintillant  North  Star, 
Caged  by  the  Green  Mountain  walls  and  the  walls 

of  the  far  Adirondacks, 
Under  my  feet  Champlain,  with  its  crooked  level 

of  whiteness, 


179 


Pine  trees  scenting  the  air,  and  the  spunky 

thermometer's  column 
Tiptoeing  up  to  freezing,  in  spite  of  the  snow 

and  the  star-light, 
Sitting  thus,  I  say,  emboldened  by  dinner 

and  distance, 
So  have  I  ventured  to  sing  to  you,  in 

hexameters  daring, 
Pancakes,  flapjacks,  slapjacks,  griddle-cakes, 

no-matters,  fritters. 


THE  CHESTNUT  BELL. 

HEAR  the  chuckle  of  the  bells, 

Chestnut  bells. 

What  a  world  of  platitude  their  pertinence  expels  ! 
How  they  twitter,  twitter,  twitter. 

In  the  office  and  the  street, 
At  the  dull  reiter- 

Ation  of  the  bummer  and  the  beat, 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  chronic  rhyme, 

To  the  antiquated  pleasantries  that  pop  into  their  shells, 
At  the  cogent  cachinnation  of  the  bells, 
At  the  jeering  and  the  sneering  of  the  bells. 


180 

THE  TWELVE  UNDERTAKERS  OF 
BURLINGTON. 

THEY  were  twelve  undertakers, 

So  round  and  red  and  jolly; 
Each  drove  a  brisk  and  healthy  trade, 

And  mocked  at  melancholy. 

Said  Mould  to  Spade  one  summer  day, 

While  merrily  he  laughed, 
"  Hast  heard  of  this  new  medicine 

That's  come  to  spoil  our  craft? 

A  cure-all  has  at  last  been  found, 

A  balm  for  every  ill, 
'T  will  heal  the  sick,  and  make  the  well 

Too  tough  for  death  to  kill." 

"And  what  might  be  the  name,"  quoth  Spade, 

"  To  such  pretensions  huge  ?  " 
Said  Mould,  "  They  call  it  Totts's 

Protoplasmic  Morbifuge.'  ' 

Then  loud  they  laughed,  those  reckless  men, 

As  'twere  a  jest  to  live. 
They  went,  and  after  them  went  Potts, 

The  morbifugitive. 

Next  month  the  wretches  met  again, 

Quoth  Spade  to  Mould,  "  How's  trade?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  cried  Mould,  "some  fearful  blight 
Our  fortunes  doth  invade. 

This  whole  month  long  no  funeral 

Has  come  to  make  me  glad." 
Quoth  Spade,  "  My  case  exactly  ; 

Affairs  are  getting  bad. 


181 

The  scoundrel  Potts  has  done  it  all, 

Nobody  now  will  die, 
But  all  forget  how  thus  they  knock 

Our  business  into  pie." 

Said  Mould,  "  We  might  as  well  give  up, 

They  have  us  on  the  hip. 
How  can  we  keep  our  hold  on  life, 

When  men  give  death  the  slip? 

But  stop  !  our  noble  calling 

Must  not  so  lightly  cease. 
There's  yet  a  way  the  evil  day 

To  shove  along  a  piece. 

We  two  devoted  craftsmen, 

With  Clod,  Nail,  Dust,  Worm,  Crape, 
Screw,  Pickaxe,  Headstone,  Turf  and  Tears, 

May  some  of  us  escape. 

The  hour  for  lofty  sacrifice 

Demands  a  patriot's  will. 
Let  us  draw  lots  to  see  who  first 

Shall  save  our  trade  from  ill. 

The  shortest  lot  betokens  death, 

The  longest  will  impart 
The  right  to  bury  the  deceased 

And  give  the  trade  a  start." 

The  lots  were  laid,  the  lots  were  drawn  ; 

Headstone  was  first  to  fall, 
And  Mould  must  lay  him  in  his  grave, — 

Sad  were  the  hearts  of  all. 


182 

But  out  spake  dauntless  Headstone, 

"  Rejoice  that  I  have  died." 
Then  forth  he  drew  a  knife,  and  let 

Light  into  his  inside. 

Another  month  came  round  and  saw 

Eleven  despairing  men. 
There  was  no  help,  and  so  they  drew 

The  fatal  lots  again. 

This  time  'twas  honest  Worm  that  went. 

But  little  gain  they  found, 
For,  in  a  month  from  then,  poor  Clod 

Lay  by  him  in  the  ground. 

So,  one  by  one,  they  passed  away, 

And  when  a  year  had  fled, 
The  wretched  Spade  was  left  alone, 

And,  weeping,  this  he  said: 

"  Alas  !  the  noblest  of  all  trades 
Now  dies  from  off  the  earth. 

In  vain  shall  after  ages  mourn 
The  loss  of  vanished  worth  ; 

And  when  men  tire  of  toil,  and  throw 

Their  worthless  lives  away, 
No  skillful  hands  shall  lay  their  dust 

Beside  its  brother  clay." 

So  saying,  down  into  the  grave 

He  had  already  dug, 
He  stepped,  and  o'er  him  drew  the  earth 

To  fill  it  tight  and  snug. 


183 

When  all  was  neatly  covered  o'er 

He  yielded  up  the  ghost ; 
And  then  came  Potts,  and  at  his  head 

Set  up  a  wooden  post ; 

Which  he  proceeded  to  bedeck 
With  bills  both  great  and  small, 

Telling  how  he  had  banished  death 
From  this  terrestrial  ball. 

And  now,  if  any  one  believes 
This  tale  I've  tried  to  tell, 

I  shall  be  proud  enough  to  wish 
It  were  not  all  a  sell. 


KING  DEATH. 

KING  Death  was  a  grim  old  fellow, 
As  he  sat  in  his  chair  of  state, 

And  emptied  his  goblet  yellow, 
And  spake  in  boastings  great. 

For  he  bragged  that  every  acre 
On  earth  was  his  by  right, 

He  had  won  them  from  their  maker, 
In  a  fair  and  stand-up  fight. 

And  King  Death  swigged  and  shouted, 

And  cried  as  he  drained  his  can, 
Ho,  ho  !  it  can't  be  doubted, 

I  am  monarch  of  earth  and  man." 


184 

And  there  he  has  sat  and  guzzled, 
Since  ever  the  world  was  new, 

Till  men  have  been  fooled  and  puzzled 
Into  thinking  his  boasting  true. 

But  Death,  you're  a  fraud,  and  you  know  it, 
A  coward,  a  craven,  a  cheat, 

And  full  in  your  face  I  will  throw  it, 
Whenever  we  happen  to  meet. 


THE  D.UDELING'S  FATE. 

IT  was  a  dainty  dudeling, 

He  dwelt  in  Avenue  B. 
By  his  big  tall  hat  and  his  monstrous  cane, 

You  might  be  sure  'twas  he. 

He  was  his  father's  hope  and  pride, 

His  mother's  darling  boy  ; 
His  name  was  Charles  Augustus 

Fitz-William  MacElroy. 

No  toil  his  hands  e'er  sullied  ; 

They  were  so  white,  I  hope 
To  die  if  they  weren't  almost 

As  white  as  Ivory  Soap. 

His  eyes  were  large  and  lustrous 

And  round  as  any  O  : 
Like  the  two  o's  you've  often 

Seen  in  Sapolio. 


185 

His  nose  was  an  example 

Of  what  a  nose  should  be ; 
It  took  a  sudden  heavenward  turn, 

Like  early  piety. 

His  chin  (the  mouth's  front-door-step) 

Was  a  historic  one, 
Retreating  swiftly,  like  our  brave 

Defenders  at  Bull  Run. 

"  How  was  he  clad?  "   I'll  tell  you, 

As  he  would  say,  at  onth  : 
His  trousers  were  as  tight  as  gold 

At  ten  per-cent  a  month. 

His  waistcoat  was  of  creamy  white, 

And  snugger  than  the  Scotch ; 
Across  it  hung  a  massive  chain, 

On  guard,  if  not  on  watch. 

His  coat, — I  can't  describe  it; 

'Twas  too  divinely  sweet ; 
Its  fit  was — epileptic  ; 

It  came  from  Baxter  street. 

Last  point  of  all,  last  two  in  fact, 

I  mustn't  fail  to  say, 
Were  those  his  toes,  which  matched  his  nose 

By  being  retrousses. 

One  morn  this  matchless  masher, 

D.  D.,  the  Dude's  Despair, 
Set  out  between  his  hat  and  cane 

To  pulverize  the  fair. 


180 

He  saw  not  far  before  him 

A  form  of  queenly  grace ; 
He  hurried  by  to  turn  around 

And  look  upon  her  face. 

With  eyeglass  up  he  tried  to  turn. 

Woe  worth  the  evil  day  ! 
His  feet  flew  up  as  if  they  sought 

To  tread  the  Milky  Way. 

They  struck  together  with  such  force 

They  never  came  apart ; 
Meanwhile  his  head  below  outspread 

Flat  as  a  cranberry  tart. 

An  ambulance  was  signalled  for, 
Which  took  him  to  Bellevue. 

He  never  looked,  he  never  spoke, 
He  doubtless  never  knew 

The  sad  extent  of  all  his  woe ; 

How  his  best  hat  was  crushed, 
His  trowsers  spoiled,  his  waistcoat  soiled, 

His  collar  badly  mushed. 

He  lay  there  in  the  hospital, 

And  dried  in  every  joint ; 
His  head  grew  flat  and  flatter  still, 

His  feet  came  to  a  point. 

And  so  he  shriveled  up  and  turned — 

Dear  me  !   I  really  lack 
Courage  to  tell  you  into  what — 

Into  a  carpet  tack. 


187 

I  know  it's  so  ;  because  one  night, 

As  I  was  going  to  bed, 
I  stepped  upon  him, — or  upon 

Some  other  tack  instead. 

I  didn't  swear  (I  never  do), 

My  joy  was  too  sincere 
To  find  the  blamed  tack  had  a  head 

To  stop  its  mad  career. 

But  therewith  against  all  mankind 

I  vowed  relentless  hate  ; 
With  which  in  view  I've  penned  for  you 

This  lay  of  the  Dudeling's  Fate. 


WORK  AND  WAGES. 

IF  there  be  any  good 

In  the  Devil's  reward, 

We  may  wish  it,  of  course, 

For  the  work  of  the  Lord ; 

But  the  common  demand 
Puts  all  on  a  level, — 

Claims  the  pay  of  the  Lord 
For  the  work  of  the  Devil. 


188 


THE  FISHERMAN. 

A  FISHERMAN  sat  on  a  wharf, 

And  fished  for  tommy-cod, 
His  hook  was  baited  with  a  clam, 

He  fished  without  a  rod. 

Of  flounders,  rough-back,  smooth-back  too, 

And  eels  he  caught  full  many, 
But  of  the  fish  he  strove  to  catch 

He  could  not  capture  any. 

At  last  a  mighty  codfish  came  ; 

He  was  not  shy  nor  skittish, 
He  spied  the  clam,  and  said,  "  I  am 

In  luck  now,  like  the  British." 

He  made  a  grab  and  swallowed  all, 

Bait,  hook,  snell  and  sinker, 
Then  struck  out  for  the  briny  deep, 

As  swift  as  thought  from  thinker. 

The  line  was  strong ;  its  in-shore  end 

By  many  a  hitch  was  fastened 
Unto  the  fisher's  button-hole, — 

To  hold  it  loose  he  durst  n't. 

A  fishing  pole  would  have  allowed 

Time  for  deliberation, 
But  off  went  fish,  and  off  went  man, 

With  like  precipitation. 

Down  from  the  wharf  the  wretch  was  dragged, 

As  'twere  by  habeas  corpus. 
Men  saw  his  coat-tails  out  at  sea 

Bob  like  a  breathing  porpoise  ; 


189 


They  heard  a  cry  above  the  waves, 
"I've  got  him,"  faintly  shouted, 

But  whether  'twas  the  man  that  spoke, 
Or  else  the  fish,  they  doubted  : 

And  whether  the  fisherman  swallowed  the  fish, 

Or  the  fish  the  fisherman, 
I  cannot  tell,  though  there  may  be 

Somebody  here  that  can  ; 

And  now  the  doleful  tale  is  told 

Of  the  fisherman  and  the  cod  ; 
The  moral  is  :   Beware  the  fate 

Of  those  that  spare  the  rod. 


OUT  WEST. 

Oh,  the  things  that  happen  out  west  ! 

It's  frightful  to  think  of  the  least ; 
But  when  you  get  out  there,  I'm  blest 

If  they  all  don't  happen  down  east. 


ANGELS'   VISITS. 

ANGELS'  visits,  though  certainly  few, 

Have  been  more  by  hundreds  than  ever  we  knew, 

And  for  every  time  that  unaware 

We  have  entertained  such  guest  of  air, 

We  have  turned  a  hundred,  unknown  of  course, 

Bag  and  baggage  from  our  doors. 


190 

RHYMES. 

SWEET  as  honey  from  the  skep, 
Gentle  Nanna,  daughter  of  Nep, 
Clad  in  robes  of  simple  rep, 
Forward  came  with  modest  step, 
And  bought  a  ticket  for  Dieppe. 


SPRINGY. 

THERE'S  an  elasticity  in  the  air 

That  common  folks  call  spring, 

And  big,  fat  robins  everywhere 
Hop  round  and  try  to  sing. 


LOVE-PAINS. 

IF  half  the  pains  we  take  for  love, 

Were  spent  in  winning  souls  to  Heaven, 

There'd  not  be  sinners  left  enough 
To  give  one  minister  a  living. 


THE  LOVER'S  OATH. 

YE  stars  that  pepper-box  the  sky, 
Hearken  unto  me  now; 

Thou  flitting,  polyoptic  fly, 
Bear  witness  to  my  vow. 


191 

THE    POET. 

THE  poet  raves  about  the  stars, 

And  sings  entranced  of  purling  brooks  ; 
But  never  gazes  on  the  sky, 

And  on  the  streamlet  never  looks. 


THE  THREE  STAGES. 

FIRST  I  tried  to  live  on  faith, 
Which  brought  me  small  hilarity, 

And  then  I  tried  to  live  on  hope, 
And  now  I  live  on  chanty. 


JONAH. 

THE  whale  had  all  he  wanted  of  it, 
When  he  had  to  swallow  the  prophet, 
But  we  poor  sinners  catch  it  if  we  fail 
To  swallow  Jonah  plus  the  whale. 


AD  SOCTUM. 

ECCE  !  in  media  nocte, 
Quo  video  te  soci  docte  ? 
Cum  pulchra  puella, 
Aliusque  umbella, 
Heu  !  video  statu  in  hoc  te. 


102 

HER  MIND. 

You  had  no  mind,  you  said,  and  so, 
Since  I  have  much,  you  had  to  flee  me. 

How  flattering !  but  the  truth  I  know 
Is  that  you  had  no  mind  to  see  me. 


THE  DEVIL. 

"  Love  God  and  man,  and  thou  shalt  live." 
So  comes  the  Savior's  promise  gracious. 

But  must  we  fear  the  devil  too, 

To  make  that  promise  efficacious  ? 


LIFE. 

AT  morn,  with  stuffed  and  straining  cars, 
The  down-town  train  is  crawling, 

While,  whizzing  past,  the  up-train  flies, 
With  emptiness  appalling. 


At  night  the  up-town  train  is  crammed, 
No  room  by  force  or  flattery, 

While,  empty  as  a  beggar's  hat, 

The  down-train  seeks  the  Battery. 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  569  721     4 


